


Tale as Old as Time

by bookwyrmling



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast, Homophobic Language, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-09 23:17:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 41,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12898965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookwyrmling/pseuds/bookwyrmling
Summary: In the Pyrenees wine region of France, just a bit southeast of Lourdes, there is a vineyard with a history dating back centuries. Now, this is not the only vineyard in the world with such a long history, nor is it even the oldest vineyard in France, but it is the only one at which you will hear this tale. It starts off, as many tales this old do, with a ‘Once Upon a Time’ and ends, as one would hope, with love.





	1. Prologue: The Prince

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [believesinponds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/believesinponds/pseuds/believesinponds) in the [PBJ_EpiFest_2017](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/PBJ_EpiFest_2017) collection. 



> This fic was written for the 2017 PB&J Epifest to fulfill the prompt listed below. It was written for Check Please! a comic by Ngozi Ukazu. Thank you, N, for letting us play with your amazing characters.
> 
> Also let it be known I have never written a fic this long, let alone in the time allotted. Hopefully I never have to do so ever again. *dies*
> 
> Note to believesinpods: I don't quite change the providence by which Bitty finds himself at the castle, but hopefully I deal with any squickiness through other means.  
>    
>  **Prompt:**
> 
> Media to be Remixed: Beauty and the Beast (Disney)  
> Prompt Details: Character 1 is cursed until they can find love, character 2 gets stuck in C1's enchanted castle (maybe with less of the kidnapping element?), character 3 is totally infatuated with C2 and wants to tap/marry that.  
> Additional Info: honestly the characters could go lots of ways, but I'm thinking Jack as Beast, Bitty as Belle, and Kent as Gaston  
> Squicks: stockholm syndrome (maybe the belle character is somehow magically stuck instead of kidnapped?)  
> Maximum Rating: PG-13

Once upon a time, in a castle not far from here, there lived a young prince. From an early age, he knew he was destined for greatness, for he knew that one day he would inherit the kingdom from his father. But the prince also had a secret. He was scared of failure; terrified of it. So completely scared of not being as good a king as his father, he would stay up every night braced with the fear of mediocrity. And, in his fear, he grew hard, selfish and unkind.

But then, one winter’s night, when his parents were away, an old beggar-woman came to the castle and offered him a single rose in return for shelter from the bitter cold. Repulsed by her haggard appearance and anxious of her arrival, the prince sneered at the gift and turned the old woman away. But she warned him not to be deceived by appearances, for a person’s worth is not created by others’ perceptions. When he dismissed her again, the old woman’s ugliness melted away to reveal a powerful enchantress. The prince tried to apologize, but it was too late, for she had judged there to be no love in his heart.

In his punishment, she transformed him into a hideous beast and placed a powerful spell on the castle and all who lived there. Ashamed of his monstrous form, the beast concealed himself in his castle with a magic mirror as his only window to the outside world. The rose she had offered was truly an enchanted rose, which would bloom for exactly ten years. If he could learn to love another—and earn their love in return—by the time the last petal fell, then the spell would be broken. If not, he would be doomed to remain a beast for all time.

As the years passed, he fell into despair and lost all hope, for who could ever learn to love a beast?


	2. The Knave

The early morning light pierced through the remaining fog, dew sparkling off red and gold vineyards and fields. The snow-capped Pyrenees gleamed and the river the village used to irrigate the surrounding arable land glinted and babbled. It was fall, but, for today, the unusual cold snap had seemed to clear at least a bit.

Kent sat astride his horse, surrounded by the other young men of the village, dogs whining and jumping in excitement and horses sidestepping to avoid them.

“Oh, there he is!”

“As strict a schedule as a cock’s crow.”

“Say cock around him and he may actually be interested.”

Laughter went up and Kent stood up in his stirrups, but still could not see who the others were talking about. “Troy?” he asked the man beside him.

“It’s nothing; they’re just being idiots,” Troy waved off Kent’s curiosity. Kent snorted at being brushed off and turned to look down at one of the boys keeping the dogs preoccupied until the hunt began.

“What are they talking about?” he asked.

The boy looked at him and then back behind him to where Troy was probably silently telling the kid to keep a lid on it. Which meant it was probably who Kent thought it was. Which meant he definitely wanted to hear the answer.

“Ignore Troy.”

The kid laughed and then ducked down to see under the horses. “Looks like it’s Odd Eric. ‘Bout right on time for his morning bread delivery for the church. Means the market’ll be opening soon.” The kid looked back up at Kent. “I better go or mama’ll tan my hide if I don’t bring the eggs she wanted. Good luck, Kent! Bring back a big one!”

Kent pumped his fist because he had been right and then turned to Troy, barely sparing the departing kid a second glance. “See how easy that was, asshole?”

Troy rolled his eyes and shoved the finger Kent had pointed at him away. “Yeah, but now the hunt’s gonna be delayed because you’re going to go talk to him—”

Before Troy even finished speaking, Kent was already working his and Kit’s way out from the group of hunters and dogs. “I’ll just ask if he wants to join, since we’re still waiting on a few others,” he called out.

“Just like that!” Troy called after him.

Eric was new to the village, having moved her with his mother when she married Byron Chevalier, owner of Chevalier vineyards, after first his son and then his wife had disappeared ten years ago. Suzanne’s deceased husband, Eric’s father, had apparently been Chevalier’s cousin, which meant her son held some of his family’s blood. Chevalier believed some blood was better than none even if he spent more time complaining about the kid than even the weather or his vintners’ apprentices’ work ethic, which was saying something.

Eric was maybe a year or two younger than Kent, but with as small as he looked and sweet as he acted, Kent felt like he was constantly reminding himself that Eric was, indeed, a contemporary. When Kent broke around the group, he could see Bitty walking the path from the vineyard to the village, blonde hair glowing and arms filled with baskets and cloths filled with baked treats, not even paying the hunting group the smallest of attentions.

Upon seeing how close he was to the village, Kent kicked Kit into a canter, making a beeline for the village’s entrance. “Whoa!” Kent called his horse to a halt once he had reached his goal, blocking the path, and Eric, completely. He dismounted and smiled. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Kent,” Eric replied with a smile of his own, the corners of his mouth pinched.

“Feeding the poor and needy again? You could just have a servant make the deliveries in the future,” Kent spoke before reaching out for one of the baskets, “Better yet, I’ll get one of the village boys to take these the rest of the way and you can go back and saddle your mount. We have a hunting party.”

Eric backed away from Kent’s grasp, clutching his goods even closer to his body. “I enjoy the morning walk,” he argued, “And hunting has never been one of my interests.”

“Not an interest?” Kent’s face twisted into a puzzled frown, “I keep telling you, Eric, hunting is a social requirement. You can’t expect to take over for your father in this community and not partake. I heard your mother kept you pretty sheltered, but a man doesn’t stay in the kitchen and bake pies—especially one of means as we both are. Here, we were going to track down a boar, but we’ll switch to a deer just for you. A bit less violent and Troy said he thought he had seen a ten-point stag within the last week. We can celebrate over a tankard at the tavern afterward.”

Bitty frowned, his warm eyes frosting over. “And I’ve told you already that I’m not interested.”

“What about just dinner, then?” Kent tried, realizing how quickly he was losing Eric’s attention.

Instead of a reply, Eric stepped off the path and into the high, dying grass to walk around Kent and his horse, nose held high. Kent ground his teeth, but turned to follow him as he walked.

“Look, everyone in this village is already starting to talk. Baking? Running errands for your mother? The girls say you don’t show them any interest and the kind of gossip you don’t want attached to you or your family’s name is starting to show up,” Kent continued to press, “I’m trying to do you a favor here—”

“I don’t need any favors,” Eric glared, “And in a place like this, what do people have to do but talk?” He sighed. His glare faded as his gaze wandered over to the village, “My mother and I are new here. I’m not surprised we’re the topic. It’ll die down eventually.”

“If you keep up with these sorts of hobbies, this kind of talk might not, and this village is your home. It’s in your best interest to at least try to fit in,” Kent argued, his grip tightening around the reigns. Kit tugged at her lead and shied away from him, forcing Kent to pause, close his eyes and take a breath.

When he had calmed himself, he opened his eyes to find, at least, that Eric had not just abandoned him. Instead, he was watching him with a measure of curiosity that Kent was almost ready to take as success until Eric asked him, “Are you just trying to fit in?”

“Me?” Kent laughed. His name rang out from a distance and he turned back to see the last of the hunters had arrived and the group was prepared to go.

“Of course not,” Eric huffed, “Enjoy your hunt, Kent.”

“I—”

The pounding of a gallop sounded behind him and Kent sighed and gave up, watching Bitty walk off. “Let’s go, Kent,” Troy called, “The rest of the group is ready. It’s not like the likes of him would be of any use today, anyway. We’ll get you another trophy.”

Eric turned the corner and slipped out of sight and Kent bit at his cheek before nodding and mounting Kit once more. “Race ya,” he smirked at Troy before taking off at a gallop and hollering at the group of men heading towards the forest. Troy cursed and took off after him, but Kent knew he wouldn’t catch up.


	3. The Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a knot of dread building in Eric's chest and tightening between his shoulder blades at the thought of remaining this creature’s prisoner for the rest of his life, but it only built there at all because he knew he would not turn it down.
> 
> That did not mean he had to go into this completely blind, however, and Eric sent a wary glance into the hulking shadow as he requested, “Step into the light.”

_ “Mother, do you think I’m odd?” Eric asked as he placed the jar of honey back in the pantry while his mother clarified some of its contents with wine. _

_ “Odd?” Suzanne queried, refusing to pause in her task, but raising an eyebrow in reply all the same, “My son? Where would you get a silly idea like that?” _

_ Eric’s eyes dropped down to the counter as he rejoined her, tasting the mix of almonds, ginger and sugar to find it had the same perfect sweet yet spicy taste his mother had taught him how to make as soon as he was tall enough to stand on a chair and help. “I don’t know,” he admitted, not quite willing to express his deepest concerns to his mother just yet. “I guess...I just don’t fit in here?” he offered. It was true and a much kinder way of speaking the truth than admitting to the derision he faced by his new father and the members of the village. Eric set the pot of oil onto the stove to begin heating it with a heavy sigh. “I don’t even have anyone other than you to talk to.” _

_ Suzanne hummed as she skimmed off the impurities rising to the top of the sauce. “What about that Kent Parson?” she offered, “He seems to want to be friends with you." _

_ Eric harrumphed, but, when his mother pointed her hand off to the workspace beside her, he sprinkled flour over it and uncovered the pastry dough she had made earlier. “Whether that is the case or not,” he argued while so doing, “he’s also rude and conceited and we do not get along at all.” _

_ Suzanne sighed and pulled the honey sauce off the heat to let it cool and thicken. “Well, sugar, do you think maybe you haven’t put in the effort?” Eric looked away and bit his lip in annoyance as she continued. “I sometimes blame myself for keeping you so close at my side after your father died. You should have been outdoors playing and learning and hunting with the other boys.” _

_ With a wave of her hands, Eric stepped away from where he had set up the dough and rolling pin and watched her take over the next step of making the almond fritters. “It’s late but you should take the chance to learn now,” she suggested, “I’m certain Kent would be happy to teach you. He even stopped by yesterday to see if you wanted to join him hawking. His eagle was quite magnificent.” _

_ Eric had, in fact, seen Kent swaggering up to the house yesterday morning and made himself impossibly scarce by going for a walk in the fields for as long as he could get away with. “And give him the chance to lord that over me the rest of our acquaintance?” he asked with a raised eyebrow and hands on his hips. _

_ “Well, you could study more under the head vintner and your new father,” his mother suggested next, “This vineyard will be yours in the future and what do you really know about it?” She rose an eyebrow at him in reply and Eric knew he had been beat. “Now, you can either roll up your sleeves and help me fold these fritters or you can leave me to focus and find Kent or the vintner.” _

_ Eric rolled his eyes and pushed up his sleeves. “Mother, you know I’m always here to help you bake.” _

* * *

 

Eric shuddered against the harsh wind and driving sleet as he walked into the silent castle only to have the doors slam shut behind him. “Hello?” he called out into the darkened hall. Firelight glowed down one of the halls and candles lit the silent but clean foyer.

“Is anyone there?” he called out again, his eyes dropping from the stairs to the hallways before a piece of fabric on the floor caught his attention. Eric recognized the floral patterned shawl with just a glance. He rushed over to pick it up, eyes wide as he held the cloth up to his chest.

“Mother!” The shawl was cold, clearly having been left here for some time, but if his mother was here, then maybe the story M. Chevalier had given was wrong. Maybe his mother had escaped whatever beast had attacked them on their way home.

Eric took to the halls, then—narrow but with so much height—searching for anyone who could help him. While the castle grounds had not been welcoming, the castle’s interior was clearly cared for, which meant it had not been abandoned. Behind him, a creak sounded and, when Eric turned around, he caught a light just disappearing through a door that had not been open before.

“Wait!” he called out as he followed the light up narrow stairs. When he passed a large window, Eric took a quick glance outside to see he was climbing the main tower, rising up above the rest of the castle with each step. Eric had no interest in the stormy view once he had realized where he was. Instead, he chased the light up the stairs, its source always just out of sight, until he hit the top and found himself in an empty room.

“I could’ve swore,” he muttered to himself in the dank and silent room as he passed by a lit candelabrum. He picked it up and walked further inside, his eyes searching the shadows for whomever it was he followed, but all he could see were a handful of locked wooden doors in stone walls.

“Is anyone here?” he called out once more.

A scuffle sounded and a tired voice called out, “Dicky? Is that you?”

A hand peeked out between the bars at the bottom of one of the doors and Eric rushed to grab onto it. “Mother!” he cried in disbelief, pulling her hand up to his face. It was too cold.

In the dark, Eric could just see his mother’s face, nigh unfamiliar as it appeared drawn and dirty. She coughed a few times before asking, “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you, of course,” Eric replied in incredulity. “Mother, what happened?” he then asked as he tried to breathe onto and rub at her hands, “Your hands are like ice! We have to get you out of there.” His eyes drifted to the door as he tried to find how to best open it up.

“No. Dicky, you have to leave!”

Suzanne pulled her hand loose and back inside the door. Eric chased it, but at her stubbornness, he decided his best bet was in getting the door open. Eric stood to tug at the lock, testing to see if it would give, but the door held firm.

“Who put you here?” he grunted, pushing onto his toes to check the hinges. For once in his life, Eric could find something good that came out of being bullied when he was younger. He had not been able to escape when locked in storehouses and closets as a child, but he had learned how to open all sorts of doors since.

“There is no time to explain,” Suzanne said over a cough, her hand reappearing through the door as she batted at his legs, “Just go.”

Eric stomped his foot and dropped back down to the grate, making sure to meet her frightened gaze with his stubborn one as he promised, “I’m not leaving without y—”

Before he could get the full sentence out, however, something large grabbed onto his shoulder. “What are you doing here?” the large something growled, scaring Eric stiff, before tossing him aside.

“Eric!” his mother cried out, but Eric could barely hear her over the sudden pounding of his heart and the rushing of blood in his ears.

“Who’s there?” he called out over to where he could see a hulking shadow in the dim room  moving just at the edge of the circle of light the candelabrum he had grabbed and placed near him on the floor gave off, “Who are you?”

“The master of this castle,” the hulking shadow barked, turning Eric’s way at just the right angle for the light to catch and shine off of two ice blue eyes much too far away from the ground to be human. The shadow did not move like a human, either. It, instead, reminded Eric of the dogs in the village that skulked in the shadows and attacked any who drew close.

Eric flinched, his heart pounding and breath speeding up. He pressed his back up tight against the wall next to the door his mother was behind and reminded himself he could be scared, but he still had to do something about it.

Eric stood, his knees shaking, hands scrabbling at the stone walls, doing as much to hold him up as his feet pressed against the floor did. “Are you the one who put my mother here?” he asked of the creature in the dark, “Please, let her out! Can’t you see she’s sick?”

“Dicky, sweetheart, just leave, please,” his mother tried once more, but her words were covered over by the sudden rush of the shadow around the edge of the room, skirting the light as it drew around to Eric.

Eric backed away from it and into the center of the circle of light. It was harder to see into the shadows from here, but it felt like an equal trade of safety since whatever it was that had imprisoned his mother apparently actively worked to avoid being seen.

“She shouldn’t have stolen from me, then!”

“Stolen?”

“It was only a rose! The castle was supposed to be abandoned!” Suzanne sobbed.

The corner of a dark cloak fluttered at the edge of the light. It was just enough to tell Eric in which direction to face as he begged, hands folded together in prayer, “All this for a rose? She could die! Please, I’ll do anything.”

“No harsher a sentence than my own,” the shadow rumbled, “She is my prisoner now.”

While the shadow’s words had been sharp, loud and aggressive, echoing off the walls and demanding submission, they changed, now, to an inevitability. They fell with a heavy weight onto Eric’s shoulders and he collapsed to his knees under their finality.

“Just go,” his mother begged of him and Eric stared at her waving hand, knowing he could never do that. Especially not when she fell into another coughing fit. He had to get her out. He had to get her home and into the care of a doctor.

“I’ll take her place!” he offered as he continued to worriedly watch his mother, knowing no other way to solve this problem, “Keep me instead.”

“You?” the shadow sneered, but seemed to pause, as if in thought, before asking, “You would take her place?”

Eric bit his lip at the open surprise and shaking belief—or maybe it was hope—in the shadow’s voice. Was it so hard to believe he would do whatever he could to take care of his mother?

“Dicky!” Suzanne argued from behind the bars at the bottom of the door, “No! You don’t know what you’re doing!”

Eric straightened his shoulders and turned to the creature hiding in the shadows, chin raised in defiance. “If I did,” he asked, ready to bargain, “would you let her go?”

He held his breath waiting for the answer. It took just long enough for his lungs to begin to tingle for the shadow to reply, “Yes.” Eric let his breath out in a relieved sigh. “But you must promise to stay here forever,” the shadow added and Eric froze once again.

“A life sentence?” he asked.

The shadow grumbled to himself before declaring, “It’s better than death, isn’t it? And an even exchange for her own.”

Eric’s mother’s arguments had not ceased. Nor had her coughs, however, and those were the only sounds from her that mattered to Eric at this moment. There was a knot of dread building in his chest and tightening between his shoulder blades at the thought of remaining this creature’s prisoner for the rest of his life, but it only built there at all because he knew he would not turn it down.

That did not mean he had to go into this completely blind, however, and Eric sent a wary glance into the hulking shadow as he requested, “Step into the light.”

It was a foot that Eric saw first. Not even a foot, no, a paw. It had hideous claws the size of Eric’s fingers and was covered in black fur that ran up an ankle and calf at least as large as Eric’s thighs until it hit the frayed end of a pair of trousers.

The dark blue cloak that had been playing at the edges of the light swished in and around that paw, though, as the shadow moved the rest of the way into the light and Eric looked up and up and up and up over feet of muscle and fur and old, torn clothing. He gasped at the monstrous face before him, ice blue eyes glaring daggers into him over a snout and a sneer that displayed a full set of fangs.

“I won’t let you do this, sweetheart!” Suzanne shouted as Eric backed himself up against her door, his legs shaking too hard to even consider standing without aid. When her hand reached out and grabbed onto his sleeve, Eric jumped then reached out to grab hold of it. It was still so cold and pale. It shook.

“You have my word,” he murmured his promise as he clenched that frail hand and surrendered himself to his fate.

“Done!” the hideous beast accepted, grabbing at Eric’s coat and shoving him out of the way before opening the door and lifting his mother up by her arm.

Eric shuddered as he fell backwards, watching as the beast lifted his mother up and onto her unstable feet before dragging her towards the stairs.

“No, Dicky,” she argued as she argued as she fought futilely against the beast’s grasp. “Listen to me! I’ve lived my life.”

“Wait!” Eric called out after the two, pushing himself back up to his feet, “Treat her gently! She’s ill!” He picked up the candelabrum and rushed to follow.

“I’m a widow and remarried,” his mother’s words and coughs got louder as she was pulled down the stairs, “I’ve watched you grow up to be such a good man. Leave me here and live your life!”

“I can’t leave you to suffer,” he called back to her, barely able to keep up with the beast’s large strides, breaths heavy in his attempt to do so. “Not after everything you’ve done for me.”

It was at the front door that Eric finally caught up to them, throwing his arms around his mother and holding her tight. “Take Bun back,” he told her, “He knows the way home even if you don’t.”

“But—”

“I’m a prisoner now,” Eric interrupted, his mouth soured and pinched at the words. As much as he tried for his mother’s sake, he could not keep this final exchange light of heart. “When am I gonna need a horse,” he added. “Bun’ll be better cared for back at the vineyard.” He had just loosened his grip when one of the beast’s large paws grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back, separating Eric from his mother and giving the woman a push towards the open door and the falling sleet. He gave her the shawl he had found on the floor and his own coat to keep her as warm and dry as possible.

“That’s more than enough for a goodbye,” the beast growled at Suzanne, “You may take the horse, but never return to these grounds.”

The door slammed behind her and Eric collapsed on himself.

“Follow me.”

Eric glared up at the beast through tears and hands gripping onto arms in an attempt to hold himself together. “Why? So you can put me in one of those cells, too?”

“I was going to offer you a bedroom, but if you insist,” the creature threatened with a sneer and Eric blanched. He stood up and followed his new jailer, but refused to look the beast’s way.

“If it were me, I’d go with the bedroom,” the candelabrum spoke and winked. Eric dropped it and screamed.


	4. The Host

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack huffed as the dining room’s door closed behind their ruckus, sent a glance at the empty dining table and turned to stare into the flames of the fireplace.
> 
> It was a lot. Two days ago, he had been without seeing a human face in several years. Last night, a couple had stumbled into the castle. Jack had kept to the shadows, made sure to offer them the basic comforts required to prevent any other enchantresses from deeming him worthy of a curse, and waited for them to leave. Instead, the woman had gone beyond the bounds of hospitality and picked a rose from his mother’s bushes without request or permission. Jack had grabbed her then, but the man she had been with had run without sparing a glance her way.
> 
> He had thought it possible the man might return, with soldiers and weapons, but he had not expected the woman’s son to come alone and unarmed. There was a part of Jack that recognized he was likely older than the young man he now held captive, but the last time Jack had seen his own human reflection he had been a child.

The slam of the suite door rang down the hallway and through the room Jack had locked his newest prisoner in—“Guest,” Shitty reminded him from inside his cloak, “No prisoner’s gonna actually fall in love with you, m’dude. That’d be way too messed up to break the spell.”

“You do realize he could be the one—” Holster added, hopping along behind him, sending the light bobbing and sharp shadows dancing in relief against the wall.

“Of course I realize he could be the one,” Jack growled to silence the candelabrum that had once been his valet, “I wouldn’t have let him stay here otherwise.”

He stormed down the stairs, leaving no room or time for argument, though he could hear Holster and Ransom arguing between themselves whether he meant in the suite or in the castle as a whole. It was only when he stalked into the dining room, silent and empty, that he realized how long it would be before the dinner he had demanded his new guest join him for was prepared.

“I’ll take him tea,” Lardo said as she hopped around with the scratch of porcelain against marble. She swung the service door open to shout, “Come with me, Chowder, Nursey, Dex!” and, for a few moments, the room was loud with the shouting of an overexcited cup and an arguing creamer and sugar bowl tapping along behind a teapot.

Jack huffed as the dining room’s door closed behind their ruckus, sent a glance at the empty dining table and turned to stare into the flames of the fireplace.

It was a lot. Two days ago, he had been without seeing a human face in several years. Last night, a couple had stumbled into the castle. Jack had kept to the shadows, made sure to offer them the basic comforts required to prevent any other enchantresses from deeming him worthy of a curse, and waited for them to leave. Instead, the woman had gone beyond the bounds of hospitality and picked a rose from his mother’s bushes without request or permission. Jack had grabbed her then, but the man she had been with had run without sparing a glance her way.

He had thought it possible the man might return, with soldiers and weapons, but he had not expected the woman’s son to come alone and unarmed. There was a part of Jack that recognized he was likely older than the young man he now held captive, but the last time Jack had seen his own human reflection he had been a child.

_ “Bobby, where is everyone?” _

_ Jack watched, shaking and shivering from the shadow of a higher floor as his parents called out for him, for the servants. _

_ He wanted to run to them, to call out to them and have them hold him and tell him it would be alright, but the claws and fur, the fangs and snout, would be too horrifying for even his parents to accept. _

_ Not to mention what the spell itself meant. He looked like this because he couldn’t love. He would look like this until someone actually did love him. _

_ Jack covered his mouth and pinched his eyes shut to keep from crying. He could have sworn he’d loved his parents. He could have sworn they had loved him back. _

With a roar of frustration, Jack slammed his hand against the wall, tearing himself out of his memories only to find the room far more full than when he had last paid attention. Everyone was frozen now, facing him and quivering, down to the very last salad fork. All save Lardo, who had returned at some point, and Holster. Lardo sat on the mantle, a nearby calming presence as she always had been. Holster just stared up at him in annoyance.

“Well?” Jack asked of the staff, his voice gruff and rushed by his own embarrassment.

“Dinner’s ready,” Ransom cut in, breaking the spell of silence that had fallen on the room and shooing the last dishes into place. Holster joined in and the two stood on the table, fussing over the placement of each food item. It appeared the kitchen staff had gone to great lengths for this meal and Jack could only imagine the talk that was running through the castle this very moment.

“Then go get him,” Jack ordered before turning to pace along the length of the room.

It took ten lengths of the room for Jack’s patience to run out. He glared at the door and growled low in his throat before shaking his head in annoyance and turning to pace once more. “What’s taking so long?”

“It definitely couldn’t be how big the castle is compared to how small Rans is,” Holster replied with a roll of his eyes.

Jack growled at the sarcasm clear in Holster’s voice.

“Or Eric might not be doing well considering the whole becoming prisoner and losing his mother all in the same day thing,” Lardo pointed out.

Jack did not growl at that comment, even though he wanted to.

It was only when Shitty spoke up from his place at Jack’s belt, suggesting that not that much time had even passed and Jack should try taking a few deep breaths, that Jack’s anger boiled over. “Are you done or do you want to go through another round robin?” he asked before stomping down the hall and back to the door to the suite in the east wing that he had given to Eric.

“Well?” he snapped at Ransom, who was shifting back and forth in front of the door.

“I don’t think he’s coming out…” Ransom admitted, tapping his filigree arms together and avoiding Jack’s darkening glare. The speed of the tick of the second hand on Ransom’s face grew faster as he tried to shrink away.

_ “What?” _ he roared. He pounded on the door, feeling the wood want to give beneath his strength. He could break the door down with one or two more blows if needed. The whispered scoldings from all four kept him from attempting just that—but only just.

“Try asking him!” Chowder called from around a corner. Jack could see him, Dex and Nursey peeking around from behind it and sneered at them before scratching his head and sighing at a nudge from Shitty.

He screwed up his face, clenched his fists, opened his mouth—

“Nicely!” Chowder added, “You gotta ask nicely. Bitty’s nice. He liked my bubble trick, too! And didn’t ask why my name’s Chowder if I’m not a bowl.”

“Bitty?” Ransom and Holster asked.

“Chowder named him,” Nursey added, sugar cubes bouncing around as he hopped up to the group, dragging Dex along.

“Nice one.”

“Yeah, Lardo said I did a good job,” Chowder beamed. He turned back to Jack, “But you still need to ask him.”

“I was about to,” Jack grumbled, taking another deep breath, opening his mouth and turning to eye the group to see if anyone planned on interrupting him again. They all stared at him innocently, waiting for him to speak and Jack sighed in annoyance. “Will you come to dinner?”

There was a breath of silence after the request. Just as Jack wondered if Eric had even heard him and if he should ask again, Eric replied.

“No.”

Jack banged against the door. “I told you—!”

Holster and Ransom hung from his arms, trying to pull them away from the wall and Lardo blew steam into his face as Chowder reminded him to ask, “Nicely!” from down by his feet.

“Try saying please,” Holster suggested with enough boredom that Jack knew he was being teased, “It’s the magic word, you know.” But, if it worked...

“Would you  _ please _ come to dinner?” he asked at a more acceptable volume.

The answer came faster this time.

“No.”

Jack snarled and pulled away from the door. “You can’t stay in there forever,” he pointed out.

“Try me,” Eric replied. Jack recognized the challenge he inadvertently issued had been accepted and refused to step down.

“THEN STARVE!” he threatened through the door before turning to everyone around him. “If he doesn’t eat with me,” he commanded, “he doesn’t eat at all.”


	5. The Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kent pictured Eric walking to the village with his arms full of baked goods even when people laughed at him daily. He remembered the way Eric had walked around Kent and Kit less than a week ago to continue with his plans even when Kent pressed him to join the hunt. He thought back on the number of times he had searched the vineyard over for Eric to invite him on a hunt only to find neither hide nor hair of him. Eric was stubborn, and that was saying the least of it.
> 
> Stubborn could get a person killed in that forest.

Kent was absolutely certain the tavern had never been this silent before as he stared down the master of the Chevalier vineyard.

“Are you telling me that not only weren’t you man enough to defend your wife when you were attacked, but you couldn’t even see what by? And then you let your son go out there alone?” he asked in disbelief, hand soaked in beer from slamming his tankard against the tabletop, “Did he even take a weapon?”

“Would he know how to use it?” one of the other men at the table asked. The question was met with snickers until Kent glared his way.

“It’s not so much a joke when his life’s at risk,” Kent pointed out to the group, finally rubbing his hand off on his trousers. It wasn’t the first spill the leather had seen and, compared to the offal of his kills, a bit of beer wasn’t even the worst. He turned back to Chevalier. “Eric’s shown more understanding of his responsibilities as a man today than you have by far. This will be the second wife you’ve lost due to your own inadequacies as a husband. Consider yourself lucky I’m around to make sure Eric isn’t the second son, too.”

“He pretended to be a hero, so what? That kid doesn’t know how to be a man,” Chevalier argued, his eyes flashing at Kent’s choice words putting his failures on display for the village once again, “He’ll either learn now, or he’ll be back as soon as it gets too dark outside.”

A murmur of agreement went through the tavern.

Kent, however, pictured Eric walking to the village with his arms full of baked goods even when people laughed at him daily. He remembered the way Eric had walked around Kent and Kit less than a week ago to continue with his plans even when Kent pressed him to join the hunt. He thought back on the number of times he had searched the vineyard over for Eric to invite him on a hunt only to find neither hide nor hair of him. Eric was stubborn, and that was saying the least of it.

Stubborn could get a person killed in that forest. Kent knew that by experience.

“He will be back today,” Kent agreed. Chevalier’s grin at those words did not last long once Kent turned to Troy and some of the other men, “Because we’re going out to look for him, his mother, and to hunt down this forsaken creature.”

“What?”

“Seriously?”

“Why do we have to go rescue that runt?”

“It’s not like I don’t have work to do before winter sets in.”

Despite the number of arguments, Kent set his face, downed what was left of his beer and left the table he had been standing at ever since Chevalier had walked in and told the room how some unknown wild beast had attacked him and his wife on the road back from a large delivery of wine the two had personally overseen.

“If any one of us was out there alone,” he cut off any further complaints with a glare, “chasing after some unknown, man-eating beast to protect our mothers, wives or daughters, I wouldn’t hear a single complaint.

“If it was any one of us, would you be so adamant about going?” one of the villagers scoffed.

Kent paused at that, eyes blinking as he sought out the speaker, but unsure as to whom it may have been as half of the men he looked at all seemed to be waiting impatiently for his answer. It set Kent’s teeth on edge to realize he was being doubted and he ground his jaw, clenched his fist and sneered, “Should it ever happen to you, let’s hope so.”

A glance around the room showed Kent still had everyone’s attention. “Get your weapons and horses ready, gentlemen,” he repeated and then walked out of the tavern to do just that.

Boots crunched against the ground behind him as Kent walked up to Kit.

“There’s no need to act like that around them,” Troy called out from behind him. Kent looked over his shoulder and blinked.

“Like what?” he asked, turning back to check the saddle. Unlike most of the men who had been in the village all day, finding work to do at home or indoors to avoid the wintry weather, Kent had been off hunting pheasant, so was more or less prepared for another trip out.

Troy rolled his eyes and walked up alongside him. “Like someone pissed on your doorstep,” he explained, “Everyone’s going to help; there’s no need to talk down at them.”

Kent ground his teeth again, dropping down to adjust the stirrups. “It shouldn’t take me dragging them into helping,” he argued, “Eric’s as much a member of this community as anyone else.”

“It’s no wonder the other guys are asking questions like that with how you’ve been following him around so much despite the fact he consistently turns you down.” It was muttered under his breath, but Troy was still close enough that Kent heard every single word.

Kent pulled tight on the stirrup, sending Kit skittering as far as her lead would allow, before rounding on Troy. “I’m trying to help him,” Kent pointed out, “It’s not his fault the kid did most of his growing up without a father.”

“So you’re trying to be his dad?” Troy asked in disbelief.

“No!”

The word tumbled out, loud and far more adamant than Kent had realized it would. He glanced at the shocked look on Troy’s face and scratched at the back of his neck before huffing. “No,” he said again, much more calmly. Kent kicked at the ground and stared at his boots because it felt like he was missing something, but Troy kept the conversation going, pulling Kent and his growing unease and annoyance along with him.

“Then what, Kent?” Troy took a step closer and lowered his voice now that Kent’s outburst had drawn attention their way. “You’re way too invested, and, with the talk Eric’s been gathering, it’s only going to spread to you if you don’t watch it.” Troy thought for a moment and then corrected himself, “It’s already starting to spread to you because you don’t watch it.”

“I’m the town’s hero,” Kent argued and Troy snorted.

“Heroes can fall.”

Kent ground his teeth and stared Troy in the eye, daring him to hold his contact, but Troy buckled down and did just that. “Look,” he continued, settling a comforting hand on Kent’s shoulder, “I’m just looking out for you. If you had a wife and kids or if Eric was a bit younger or if you both were younger, it’d probably be fine.” The hand fell away, but Kent could still feel its weight there, pushing all the harder as Troy said, “but you don’t have any of that. It’s odd that you go looking for him so often when you’ve never so much as called on a girl.”

“Never—?” Kent scoffed and then laughed, looking around the village and meeting the eyes of anyone watching only to have their faces turn away even if their ears were still intent. What was it Eric had said? There was nothing for people to do here but talk. Or something along those lines. Kent turned back to Troy. “Why would I call on a girl? Literally ever unattached woman in this village wants to marry me.”

“Wow,” Troy deadpanned, “way to have a big head. So instead, you put all your effort into following around a guy that wants nothing to do with you? Like some lovesick puppy?”

“I’m not—!” Kent rolled his eyes and sighed. “I can settle down with one of them any time,” he pointed out, not even caring to rebut Troy’s little snipe when they both knew Kent was telling the truth, “There’s no need to call on or woo.”

“Then why don’t you settle down with one of them?”

Sometimes it was like Troy didn’t even know him. “C’mon, Troy, the options aren’t that great,” Kent pointed out. It was a small village. There were only a handful of women of a suitable age and none of them really had the looks to catch his attention. Even Troy’s betrothed had earned him a few jabs, but her father was the wealthiest merchant in the village, so Troy had asked and she and her father had said yes and that had been a year ago. It was something that worked for Troy, but all Kent saw when he looked at marriage and children were responsibilities he did not want or need. “I’d rather have fun and hunt and drink without any ball and chain as long as I can,” he added with a teasing grin.

The men Kent had called to arms were finally beginning to arrive, armed with spears and bows and a few with guns that, while they could do severe damage, were just as likely to miss as hit. The noise would do to scare any beast, however, so Kent considered them useful this time around. He, however, stuck with his preferred bow and arrows, a dagger and pistol tucked at his belt only if they were needed.

Kent mounted his horse and turned to face them all. “If there is a singular beast in our mountains large enough to carry off an adult, it’s likely a bear,” he called out to grab their attention, holding his spear up and out, “The moment a beast has gotten the taste of human blood, it’s not going to stop, so we’re going out there to bring Eric and Suzanne back and we’re going out there to bring this creature down before it takes anyone else.”

More than the threat to the village’s odd newcomers—because they had still been here for less than a year when most everyone had lived their entire lives in this village and its surrounding lands—the threat to their own families seemed to do the trick as the men rallied with a shout and headed out of town and toward the mountains.

“We’re not done with this conversation,” Troy said from atop his own steed.

“Yes,” Kent stated, “We are.” And with a kick of his legs, Kit took off, racing up to the front of the group and leading the way. Behind them, he could hear the baying of dogs the village boys must have released working to catch up and he knew with a group this big they would find and return Eric and his mother. He just prayed it was early enough that they would still be alive when found.

The village was settled in the foothills of the Pyrenees, just high enough for winter to hold a bite and the winds to come howling down from the peaks. As the group worked their way through the forest and up to the first pass that Chevalier would have taken with his wife, the wind cut above the trees, rustling leaves and causing branches to crackle. The dogs’ bays sounded muffled until they died out completely, the creatures running amongst and around the horses, following some sort of trail, but clearly nervous of either what made it or where it led.

They had just made it to the landslide Chevalier had told the group of men had sent him backtracking on the main road to find an almost completely overgrown trail that went past the old abandoned castle and added a good half day to the trip, when the dogs and horses perked at something.

The men were instantly on alert as the dogs began to bay and horses shied. Each man took his weapon of choice at hand and Kent’s knuckles whitened at his grip as he pulled back on his bowstring. He dropped his shoulders, tightened his core and focused his eyes on the foliage in the direction he could now hear the crunching of leaves and snapping of branches from only to realize—

“It’s a horse!”

The pounding of hooves sounded just beneath everything else and Kent lowered his weapon, head perking up. “Chevalier said Eric took his horse,” he called out to the men as a reminder, relief beginning to trickle in until the first flash of the approaching horse’s coat peeked through the greenery.

Dapple grey. “It’s Bun!” he called out, snapping his reins and sending Kit into a full-on sprint.

“Eric!” he called out, head ducked low to avoid branches as he rushed off the path.

“Eric!” a few of the others called out as they followed him at a more careful pace.

When Kent first saw more than just a glimpse of Bun, he thought the horse was riderless and his heart stopped for a moment, wondering if Eric had fallen off or been injured. At the very least, he had to be in trouble because there was no other reason to abandon your horse in these mountains, this far from the village. He pulled Kit to a sudden halt and a few of the others rushed past him to surround and soothe the nervous mare and the lump on her back.

Someone was there. Kent could breathe again.

“It’s Suzanne!”

Kent dismounted and handed Kit’s reins over to Courtney, the butcher’s son, before walking up to the shaking woman, arms wrapped unforgiving around her mount’s neck. This was a good thing, Kent had to argue with the disappointment blooming in his gut. It meant Bitty had found his mother. Seeing how bad the weather was, it was no surprise he had sent her on ahead on horseback.

It was only when he drew close, however, that he could see how frightened she was. While Kent did not know Suzanne well, he probably knew her better than anyone else currently present, having spoken with the woman numerous times while asking after Eric’s plans for the day or week. Suzanne, very much like her son, was a warm person. She had her own silent strength. Having lived the life of a widow for a number of years, taking care of herself and her son, she was worn probably more than she should have been at her age, with lines etching themselves deep around her eyes and mouth, but there had always been a vibrance to her that spoke of life and comfort. Her skin was a pallid grey now, eyes wide and bloodshot and cheeks sunken in. It did not take a doctor to see the fever flush on her face or the shaking of her hands as she finally released her death grip on Bun and sat up in the saddle.

“Mme Chevalier!” Kent called out as he reached out to her.

“Kent!” Suzanne cried and nearly flung herself off the horse and onto him, icy fingers gripping at Kent’s offered hands with a ferocious strength Kent would not have expected from her at this moment were it not for the desperation that made itself known in her tears as she pleaded, “Kent, you have to save him! You have to save Dicky!”

The words sent a deluge of fear down Kent’s spine as cold as Suzanne’s hands.

“What happened?” he asked, already imagining the worst as some beast tore Eric’s body apart.

“He took him!” Suzanne cried, turning to look back the way she came. Her face crumpled. “He won’t let him go! He said he’ll keep them there forever! You have to go get him!”

It was definitely not what Kent had expected to hear and he shared a confused look with Troy. “Someone took Eric?” he asked cautiously, trying to understand exactly what had happened, “Who?”

“The Beast!” Suzanne said, as if she were stating the obvious, “The same one that had me!”

Kent’s shoulders fell as he took in the feverish flush on her pallid face and the look he shared with Troy this time was one of concern. His heart still pounded, but the remaining anxiety had nothing to attach to, leaving Kent unsettled, but unknowing where to direct his nervous energy.

“Suzanne…” he attempted to cut in, “you have a fever.”

“That doesn’t matter!” Suzanne instantly spoke over him, her hands clenching tighter, fingers digging into his flesh. Kent ground his teeth against the pain.

“You’re cold, sick, hysterical,” he tried once again, slowly pulling his hands away in an attempt to get the woman to let go, “Let’s get you home.”

Suzanne pulled his hands back up to her, still refusing to let go. “No, no! We have to go back,” she argued, trying to keep hold of Kent’s hands as he lost patience and began pulling her fingers loose, “We have to get Dicky.”

Kent finally tore his hands free when Suzanne broke into a string of coughing. He clenched them several times, hissing at the deep purple half-moons the woman’s nails had left behind. It was likely only the calluses from working outside everyday that had kept her from fully breaking skin. “Is this beast going to kill him?” he asked her, deciding to try playing along with the woman’s fever-dreams for the time being.

“No,” Suzanne admitted with a frown, looking at the group of men around her with a confused frown, “but...but he won’t let him go.” Her hands, having lost Kent’s to hold on to, grasped at each other, nails scraping and leaving red welts.

Kent took off his coat and threw it over Suzanne’s shoulders the best he could. She might be short, but he was dismounted and Bun was an average sized gelding. “Then we have time to get you home first,” he pointed out, “I’m sure Eric would want you safe.”

“But…” Suzanne started to argue again, pulling the coat tight around her and huddling into its warmth as she looked back in the direction she had come from once more.

“She’s off her rocker,” Hugo said in awe.

“She’s been through a lot,” Kent corrected, “Let the fever pass and we’ll get a better story from her.”

With a wave of his hand, Courtney led Kit over and passed back the reins. Kent gave her a few pats on her neck and shoulder before mounting. When he went to take the head of the group to lead everyone back, however, Suzanne reached back out to grab onto his arm once again.

“Kent, please,” she begged, “You’re always asking after Dicky. He’s trapped there on his own. Please, go rescue him.”

Kent cleared his throat and pulled his arm loose, but grabbed Bun’s reins and tied them to Kit’s saddle to keep her close as it seemed to offer her some comfort. “We’ll get you home and call the doctor first,” he said with his eyes on the ground, watching Kit’s steps as they made their way back to the trail, “Of course I’m worried about Eric, but he gave you Bun for a reason, right?”

For the first time since finding her, Suzanne did not fight back. Kent sent a glance back her way and snorted at her grumpy pout. The glare she sent him was instantaneous and he hunched his shoulders and turned back to face the trail, hand over his mouth to muffle any further laughter. He had seen the exact same expression on Eric’s face too many times to count.

“Hey.”

Kent looked to his other side where Troy was following alongside him. “Take some of the guys and run ahead,” Kent requested. Troy frowned at him, but Kent shook his head, not wanting to argue any further. “Call the doctor to the Chevalier home. We’ll head straight there.”

“Are you sure you don’t want some of us to stay behind? Keep looking?” Troy asked, even though the rest of the villagers had already taken off, talk of home carrying its way on the wind to the smaller group in the back.

The problem was that Kent very much would like some of the group to stay behind and look. Kent would very much like to be part of the group that stayed behind to look. But, as of now, Suzanne had latched onto him and she needed to get home, which meant Kent would need to take her. No one else seemed particularly interested in continuing the hunt, either. The search had begun late and the weather was about as bad as it could get, the rain having turned to sleet at this higher elevation. Night fell quickly once the sun set on the other side of these mountains and they had not brought supplies to sup, let alone camp and the clouds meant there would be no natural light while the rain meant lanterns would be difficult to keep lit.

He shook his head. “It’s going to be too hard to track after anyone who does. Best to get her back, eat a meal. If anyone else wants to go back out after that, they can come with me, then.”

Because Kent had no plans on stopping his own search until Eric was back in the village. He could grab bread and meat from the tavern, pack up a few supplies to rough it and hunt while he searched.

“And you’re okay with that?” Troy asked.

“I’m gonna have to be,” Kent replied.

Troy sighed then kicked at his mount’s flank and took off.


	6. The Guest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If Jack shows up, I was fully against this,” Ransom shouted as he jumped to keep up with Bitty’s longer strides. “But also, Holtzy!” he added with a tinge of excitement trickling into his voice, “There’s no way the kitchen and servingware won’t want to do the whole shebang after preparing for it at dinner.”
> 
> “Right?” Holster called back, vibrating in Bitty’s hands.
> 
> “It’s party time!” Holster shouted as Bitty pushed through a door to find a dining room.

“So what is your real name?”

The wardrobe shrugged, “Honestly? They’ve kinda lost their importance for us here. We have our names that we gave each other, as our own family, since we can’t really reach out to our original families like this. So I’m Foxtrot more than anyone else.”

Eric stood up off the bed and walked closer with a concerned look on his face. “Do you even remember?”

“Oh, yeah, I mean...it hasn’t been that long,” Foxtrot replied before the carved arches at the top of her double doors furrowed.

Eric had been more than surprised—try terrified—when the wardrobe came to life and came after him with talk of proper attire, throwing dresses all over the place until she slammed her doors in annoyance upon realising she only held women’s apparel inside and Eric had confirmed that no he was not interested in wearing a dress to dinner, no matter how pretty. Lardo, the teapot, had arrived then, as calming in personality and voice as the beverage she offered. Chowder, the teacup, had been energetic to say the least, but his presence had been a fun distraction and Eric had even laughed, which had somehow managed to get the sugar bowl and the creamer to stop fighting with each other.

“If you managed that on day one, you’ll fit right in!” Chowder had crowed, “We need to pick a name for you!”

And Eric had become Bitty.

Lardo, Chowder, Nursey and Dex had since left, but Foxtrot, the wardrobe, was as stuck in this room as he was, though more for the fact that she couldn’t fit through the door than the fact that a Beast was holding her prisoner in it. They’d fallen into easy conversation to fill the hours since the Beast had told him to starve and stomped off. It had eventually circled around to monikers and Eric was only realizing just now how important it was that Chowder had already given him one.

“How long is not that long?” Eric asked.

Bitty. His name to these...people?...was now Bitty. Because, just like them, he’d never have his own family again, either. The beast didn't seem the type to let him write letters, after all.  


Before Foxtrot could answer his question, however, Bitty’s stomach growled loud enough for both of them to hear and she laughed as Eric’s face reddened.

“If you sneak out for a bite, I won’t tell,” she promised and Bitty sent her a smile before testing the door to find it opened.

“Can I bring you anything?” he asked, peeking back through the door, only to frown and add, “I...don’t know what talking wardrobes eat…”

“Like our non-speaking brethren,” Foxtrot replied, “us speaking wardrobes mainly graze on individual stockings. So feel free to focus on yourself.” And then she winked. Bitty was definitely going to have to get used to that.

The hallway was as void of human life as he expected and as void of movement as he could hope, though he warily eyed a suit of armor as he walked past it. It didn’t say anything or move, however, so maybe that one was not alive.

Bitty wondered if everything was alive in the castle. He almost wondered if the castle, itself, was alive, but that was far too horrifying a thought. Enchanted sounded much better.

An enchanted castle. With talking wardrobes and teapots and candelabra and cups. If he ignored the castle’s monstrous master it almost sounded like a fun little story his mother would have told him when he was younger and they were snuggled together in her bed or rolling out pastry dough in the kitchen. He smiled to himself at the thought as he turned a corner and found the stairs back down to the entryway.

Bitty eyed the door. It would be so easy to run away. There was no one around—

“He’s not supposed to eat! Do you really want to get on Jack’s bad side?”

Bitty jolted at the voice and searched the room until a clunking on the stone stairs drew his attention to a clock and the candelabrum from earlier skipping in his direction, arguing with each other.

Or, at least, the clock seemed to be arguing with the candelabrum, who latched onto Bitty the moment he drew near enough.

“Hey, Bitty! Good to see you about. I bet you’re hungry, huh?”

“Um…”

“I’m Holster and this is Ransom,” the candelabrum continued, “Consider us the heads whenever Jack isn’t around.”

“Jack?”

“You mean I’m the head,” Ransom butted in, “I am literally the butler. It is my assigned job. You’re just Jack’s valet.”

“Yeah, but what’s there to valet for him now? The guy’s a mess and all of his clothes don’t even fit anymore. Foxtrot is magic for making the few nice outfits he has but he still skulks around in those torn-up rags from clothes he’s mostly outgrown,” Holster replied, “I gotta find something to do.” With that, he waved Bitty down and jumped into his hand. “You’re hungry, right?”

“A bit, yeah,” Bitty admitted, adjusting his grip on the hefty, moving object, “but I won’t cause any problems. I was just looking for the kitchen.”

“Nonsense!” Holster cried.

“Betsy would scream if you messed up her kitchen and that’s the last thing any of us want to deal with,” Ransom added, “Well, second to last. Jack finding you eating after he specifically forbade it would be—hey!”

Bitty sent a disinterested glance at Ransom’s comment about Jack’s rules before walking off. “Actually, Holster, a full meal sounds great. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

“Then forward, ho! my good Bitty,” Holster laughed and pointed one of his lit candle-hands down a hallway.

“If Jack shows up, I was fully against this,” Ransom shouted as he jumped to keep up with Bitty’s longer strides. “But also, Holtzy!” he added with a tinge of excitement trickling into his voice, “There’s no way the kitchen and servingware won’t want to do the whole shebang after preparing for it at dinner.”

“Right?” Holster called back, vibrating in Bitty’s hands.

“It’s party time!” Holster shouted as Bitty pushed through a door to find a dining room. Dishes had been in the process of putting themselves out, likely for breakfast in the morning, but paused as Holster and Ransom jumped onto the table.

“Hey Bitty. Finally decide to grab some grub?”

On the other side of the room, Lardo hopped onto a service cart and spun it around the table to stop alongside him.

“I was feeling a bit peckish,” he admitted. His stomach growled to punctuate his admission.

“Cool. Betsy made, like, so much food,” Lardo replied, “I’ll go let the kitchen know we still have a full dinner service on the menu.”

“Thanks Lardo!” Holster called out before turning back to Ransom. “It’s not dinner without entertainment, so I’m going to grab March while you get the dishes in order.”

“I am literally the one saying we shouldn’t be doing this,” Ransom muttered to himself after Holster ran off, “How am I the one setting the table?” And yet he turned to the dishes, filigree arms raised in the air like some orchestral maestro. “Alright bros, full dinner service. You know what to do.”

“Are all the dishes alive, too?” Bitty asked in awe as he watched servingware dance across the tabletop and fly through the air. His mother would probably cry seeing such nice china flinging and flipping about, but not a single piece broke.

“The dishes?” Ransom asked in confusion as he watched them, “Why would you think that?”

“I mean, it’s not like I ever thought a clock would be alive,” Bitty pointed out as the room went still and Ransom hummed.

“Guess you got me there.” Ransom turned back to the set table and huffed, “I said dinner service, not supper. I know it’s been a few years, but you were literally just set up four hours ago.”

The plates and silver jumped back into action.

“Foxtrot was saying that, too,” Bitty added, “That it’s been a few years? What’s that mean?”

Bitty could swear the stained wood frame blanched. “Just since we’ve had guests,” Ransom replied in a guarded voice, “You heard Holster.”

“Foxtrot also said you guys couldn’t contact your family,” Bitty also said, biting his lip as he thought harder on exactly what it was Foxtrot had said to him and the implications it held, “But how does a wardrobe have a family? And why is a clock a butler? Why is a candelabrum a valet? I would imagine proper hands would be preferred in that position and not, you know, fire.” Bitty held his hands up in display and shrugged.

Ransom seemed more interested in nudging the final pieces into place than answering Bitty’s questions. Bitty took that to mean he wasn’t too far off the mark. The door to what Bitty assumed was the service hallway that led to the kitchen opened and Lardo rolled back in on her cart, this time with Chowder, Nursey and Dex along for the ride.

“Bitty!” the teacup greeted, “Want a drink? Lardo just heated herself up.”

“Um, sure,” Bitty replied, thrown for a moment at the sudden greeting, “It’s good to see you again, Chowder.”

Chowder grinned up at him as Lardo filled him up with tea. Dex poured in what Bitty was sure was the exact same amount of cream as before and Nursey threw in a handful of sugar cubes, sending some of the tea splashing onto everyone in the vicinity, including Dex.

Bitty had never seen cream boil without the addition of heat, but the cream was definitely taking on a curdled appearance as Dex shouted, “ _ How many times _ have we told you not to just go around flinging sugar?”

“Chill,” Nursey replied casually which seemed to only egg the creamer on.

“Hey, hey, Bitty! You know that trick from before?” Chowder asked, drawing Bitty’s attention back from the arguing dishes and back to Chowder. Bitty thought back on the bubbles Chowder had blown when Bitty had burnt his tongue on the slightly too hot tea and nodded.

“Yeah?” he asked, wondering if Chowder was going to show it to him again.

“I got another one! Watch.”

Bitty did just that as Chowder’s face screwed up like he was thinking really hard and the insides of the cup began to spin, stirring itself until the sugar dissolved.

“That’s amazing!”

Chowder smirked at the awe in Bitty’s voice. “You can have a drink now. Stirring like that should’ve helped it cool down, too,” he added.

Bitty picked the teacup up and held it to his lips before looking back at Ransom and remembering his unanswered questions.

“Hey, Chowder?” he asked.

“Yeah, Bitty?”

Ransom glared.

“Did you used to be a human?”

“Of course!” Chowder piped up with a laugh, “Teacups don’t talk.”

“CHOWDER!”

Cries of rebuke and censure sprang up from every direction—including behind Bitty, who whipped around in surprise to see Holster riding a harpsichord. Bitty remembered Holster had mentioned bringing someone by the name of March, but it was a very different thing to see a harpsichord—most likely March—running on four legs like some sort of animal.

“Guys,” Chowder pointed out, “Bitty’s stuck here, too. He’ll figure it out eventually.”

“Y’all are...stuck here, too?” Bitty asked.

“Tell me one place in the world where talking tableware would be able to live. I’m waiting,” Dex replied, the disturbance Bitty and Chowder had made apparently having been enough to break up the fight between him and Nursey. “No, seriously, I’d love to get the hell away from him,” he added with a glance in Nursey’s direction.

Nursey spat a sugar cube in Dex’s direction, only to miss and have it go rolling off the cart.

“Seriously?” Dex shouted, “You have, like, no aim!”

“You said you didn’t want sugar getting into the cream, though,” Nursey replied and Bitty knew exactly where that conversation was going so he turned his attention back to Chowder, who seemed far more willing to answer his questions.

“Did the Beast make y’all like this?”

“Jack?” Chowder asked in confusion, specifically speaking over the shushing coming from Ransom and Holster, “Why would you think that? He’s as stuck here as we are.”

“Well, I mean, he’s pretty scary and mean,” Bitty pointed out, setting Chowder back down to properly look him in the face as they spoke, “Seems the sort to curse people into furniture and dishes.”

That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say.

“No way, Jack’s great!” Chowder argued.

“So he’s a little rough around the edges…” Ransom admitted.

“Dude can be downright scary,” Nursey agreed only to have Dex bump into him and slosh cream over him.

“Ugh, now who’s making a mess, Poindexter?”

“The last thing Bitty needs is confirmation he’s right,” Dex argued. “You’re not,” he turned and said Bitty.

“No, no, Bitty’s right,” Holster admitted as he hopped off the harpsichord and onto the table, “Jack’s a downright douche sometimes, but, like, not that much a surprise when you consider who his parents are and how long we’ve been here alone.”

“Look, Bitty,” Lardo cut in as she shoved past everyone to stand in front of Bitty on the table, “There’s a lot we can’t really talk about, but know that Jack isn’t a bad guy. He just takes some time to warm up to strangers and the only sort of strangers we’ve had around here for years have either ran or tried to kill him the moment they saw him and then ran when they failed.”

Bitty bit his bottom lip and glared at the stone floor as he thought back over that day, of the terror at hearing his mother had been lost to a beast. At finding her, feverish and locked away in this castle by some sort of creature Bitty couldn’t identify as anything other than Beast—Jack his name was, apparently. He thought of Jack’s anger at his appearance and yet how he remained in the shadows until Bitty asked to see him. He thought of his surprise when Bitty offered to take his mother’s place. He thought of the room he had been given and while he was beyond angry his mother had not been shown the same courtesy, Jack could have just thrown Bitty into a cell to rot, too.

“How long?” he asked the room. It had gone silent through Lardo’s speech and remained so for Bitty’s reply, “How long have y’all been like this?”

“Almost ten years,” Lardo replied, glaring at Ransom and daring him to interrupt, “Jack was just a kid. Most of us weren’t much older.”

Bitty blinked, trying to imagine that ten-foot monster as some sort of child until he realized, “Did Jack...did he used to be human, too?”

“Yeah.”

A curse. One that turned a child into a monster and a castle full of people into tea sets and wardrobes. “Is there a way to change y’all back?” he asked, wringing his hands. If there was something he could do—!

“That’s one of the things we can’t talk about.”

Of course. That’s how it always went in the bedtime stories his mother used to tell him, too. “One more question?” he asked and Lardo nodded acquiescence. Or at least Bitty figured she nodded with the way the teapot’s body kinda slouched forward a bit before settling back into a normal teapot shape.

“Will I turn into a piece of furniture, too?”

Holster and Ransom laughed.

“It’s a good question!” Chowder scolded.

But Lardo shook herself back and forth. “Nah. You’re stuck as a human.”

Bitty sighed in relief. He didn’t want to worry about becoming a chair or a broom on top of trying to work his way into Jack’s good graces while building a life for himself here.

“Okay,” he nodded, done with questions for the time being. He was sure there would be more, but he needed to process what he’d learned first.

His stomach growled and Nursey snorted.

“Want to eat dinner now?” Lardo smirked.

“Yes, please,” Bitty whispered from behind his hands, his face hot and definitely red.

The teapot whistled loud and clear and the service door banged open as tray after tray of food began to roll in and set itself on the table.

Pheasant, pureed chestnut soup, herb salad, wild duck, roast beef, hare stew, wild trout, morel souffle, cheese, fruit and more piled itself within Bitty’s reach and his eyes went wide at the selection.

“Alright, boys!” Lardo shouted with a smirk.

Holster and Ransom jumped in with huge grins. “Party time!”

It was in the middle of a rousing piece by Holster and March, everyone else clapping and jeering while Bitty tried to eat more food than he had ever seen in one place in his entire life, that he leaned over to Lardo and asked, “Don’t you think Jack’ll be able to hear all this ruckus?” He nearly had to shout to be heard from right beside the teapot and he couldn’t quite keep the smile off his face. Being warm, having a full stomach and being surrounded by such a fun and accepting group of—people, Bitty decided, because they were people even if they didn’t look it at the moment—was doing wonders for his mood.

Lardo smirked and hopped a bit closer to him as she yelled back, “Oh, he most definitely can.”


	7. The Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I can’t do it,” Jack admitted, claws scraping at the stone banister, “You’ll all be stuck and it’s all my fault.”

“You know, you could go down and join.”

Jack growled at the mirror even as he watched Eric—no, everyone had already named him Bitty—sing and dance with the others in the dining room. He could only just hear the sound leaking through the stone walls and empty corridors.

Decor at the handle rumbled like a mustache before the mirror continued, “You didn’t even touch dinner, yourself.”

“He won’t eat if I show up,” Jack pointed out with a sneer. “Off,” he commanded as he walked past broken chairs, torn tapestries and feathers that had flown from ripped pillows and had been long since mashed into the floor. Near the balcony sat a small table with a delicate glass case covering a single red rose in full bloom. Jack placed his paws delicately on the marble table, only to have a single petal fall to the tabletop. Jack threw himself away from the table and out onto the balcony, pounding his fists on the railing. His shoulders shook as he took in shuddering gasps of air.

“Hey, Jack-o,” Shitty tested as he tapped up onto the ledge, his mirrored surface now simply a reflection of that which lay before him: Jack’s wide, wild eyes and gasping maw.

“I can’t do it,” he admitted, claws scraping at the stone banister, “You’ll all be stuck and it’s all my fault.”

“Whoa, whoa, hey my man, my dude, my best bro,” the mirror cut in, “this is definitely not on you. And none of us blame you for what happened.”

“If I had just let her stay—!”

“Yeah, well, she was the bitch who decided to curse a kid for being wary of strangers, so I honestly think we’re better off without her ever setting foot in this castle again, even if it was to lift the curse.”

Jack snorted, but nodded his head, a fang popping out over his upper lip as he smirked.

“Now that’s the attractive smile you should’ve shown Bitty,” Shitty pointed out, nudging at Jack’s arm even as the smirk disappeared behind a constipated grimace.

“Give it time,” Shitty continued, “It always takes you a bit to warm up to people.”

“I don’t have time!” Jack roared as he threw his arms back in the direction of the rose.

“Like I said: don’t worry about us. Don’t think about the curse. Just make a new friend. Judging by how quick he’s taken to everyone else and how quick they all took to him, he must be a pretty cool little dude.”

But while Jack was no longer on the verge of one of his attacks, he could feel his muscles bunching with the need to move. “I’m going on a walk,” he mumbled before leaping off the balcony and onto the roof, leaving Shitty behind.

From the roof, now that the sleet had stopped and the clouds had begun to clear, Jack could see out of the little dell the castle had been built into. If he followed the natural slope of the mountains, he could see, in the distance, the lights of a small village just past the edge of the forest.

A cool wind rushed down the mountain and tugged at his cloak and ruffled the fur covering his paws and his face. Jack huddled against it, pushed his face into his knees and forced himself to breathe. It was only after the distant sounds of whatever impromptu celebration everyone else had been partaking in drew to a halt that Jack pushed himself back up to his feet. The village had gone dark. Even without moon and starlight to show its boundaries, Jack knew its location by heart.

There was silence in the air, broken only by rustling leaves, the screeching of bats and owls and the howling of wolves. If Bitty’s mother had made it back to the village, it appeared no one would be running back this way for her son. At least not tonight. Jack sent one last glance behind him, up the glaciered slope of the mountaintops and to the sky before making his way back to his balcony for another silent and lonely night.

It was as he leaped onto the balcony that he saw it. At first, Jack had thought the noises he had heard were Shitty clattering about, waiting for him to get back for a snuggle and Jack prepared himself to once again explain that glass could shatter and silver was not exactly comfortable to sleep holding onto, but then he caught sight of Bitty, hands on delicate glass, staring entranced at the red rose floating inside of it.

Jack remembered the petal that had just fallen.

“DON’T TOUCH THAT!” he shouted as he ran up, shoving himself between Bitty and the rose, snarling and scowling as Bitty backed away with his hands up in defense, shaking. “What are you doing here? You could have ruined everything!” Jack added before turning his attention to the rose and counting the petals on the tabletop to make sure no more had fallen.

“Then I’ll leave!”

Jack looked up at Bitty’s sobbed response only to watch him run out the door and down the hall.

“Oh shit,” Shitty finally spoke up, “That can’t be good.”

Chaos sounded down the hallway.

“Let him leave,” Jack scowled and turned his attention on the flower, “It’s too late for him to do anything but fear me anyway.”

“If he leaves now, he won’t be fearing anyone for much longer,” Shitty said as he jumped up onto the table. Jack flinched before grabbing Shitty and pulling him away from the glass, unwilling to risk anyone causing a petal to fall even a second sooner.

“He gave his horse to his mom,” Shitty reminded Jack, “The wolves’ll tear him to pieces.”

Jack remembered the howling he had heard not far from the castle’s gates. He cursed before throwing Shitty onto the bed. Shitty bounced twice and shouted, “Watch the merchandise!”

Jack dropped to all fours and sprinted to the entry where everyone stood, staring out into the night.

“Jack!” Ransom was the first to notice him.

“Bitty?” Jack asked.

“We tried to stop him!”

“Little fucker’s fast,” Holster added with a measure of interest and awe in his voice.

“Not fast enough for wolves,” Nursey pointed out.

“I mean, you never know!” Chowder argued, trying to remain positive, but his voice wavered at the end and Jack snorted.

“Jack…” Lardo implored and he sighed before nodding his head and running down the steps towards the drive.

“BRING HIM BACK!”

Jack paused at the sudden volume of the cry before turning to look up at the window of the suite he had given to Bitty to find Foxtrot waving an entire dress out of the window like a woman waving her handkerchief. Jack gave a sharp nod of his head before taking off.

Whatever speed Bitty had, he was still a human and used to much more tame locales. Jack, on the other hand, was built to run. Like the predator he now sought to protect Bitty from, Jack could run on all fours, his tail helping to balance his body as claws dug through the detritus of fallen leaves, spraying dirt behind him with each step.

He could smell Bitty, the trail of fall fruit and sugar, until he saw the wolf tracks join up with boot prints and the entire group veer off the trail.

Jack snarled and followed, leaping into the small clearing and tackling the wolf that had lunged at Bitty.

The wolf bit deep into his shoulder and Jack roared in pain, tearing the starving beast away and throwing it against a tree.

A whimper sounded behind him and Jack turned around to see Bitty whacking at another wolf with a branch. The wolf bit down at the makeshift club and tore it out of Bitty’s hands. Jack could see and smell the blood on Bitty’s hands and growled as he ran up and swiped the wolf away, putting himself firmly between Bitty and every other beast in the clearing.

He roared and ran to meet two more wolves who were just hungry enough to test their strength. Their teeth and claws dug deep, but Jack could feel his doing the same and one wolf fell limp in his hands after a resounding crack while the other jumped away and limped to hide behind the scarred alpha of the pack. Jack set himself up for another charge and growled, baring his teeth for all to see. He glared at the alpha, staring him down and daring him to attack, the bite in his shoulder and scratch on his side stinging and aching, but the alpha sized up the situation and turned to run off.

Jack watched them go with a sigh of relief before standing back up on his hind legs. It was hard to breathe in a way that was very different from his anxiety attacks and his vision blurred. He turned to make sure Bitty was safe, but his head swam and his body hit the ground and everything went black.


	8. The Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Eric’s out there facing who knows what, Troy!” Kent shouted over Troy’s words, “If his mom’s sane, he’s a prisoner to some monstrous beast and if she isn’t then there are wolves and the elements. I don’t care what the village thinks. I’m not losing anyone else I care about!”
> 
> Kent froze, eyes wide, and blinked at Troy as if to ask if he had just said what he thought he did. Troy’s pinched face told him he had and Kent’s shoulders shook as he took a deep breath in before slowly letting it out.
> 
> “I care about Eric,” he repeated calmly, “And I’m going to find him.”

“Did you hear? Her night in the woods drove her mad.”

“If she wasn’t mad before, you mean?”

“It’s a miracle she survived being torn from the wagon; is it a surprise she didn’t return in one piece?”

“But a beast? And talking houseware?”

“That castle’s abandoned! Ever since the prince and staff went missing!”

Kent’s hands tightened around his steaming mug of coffee. It had only been a handful of exhausting hours since he had made it back to the Chevalier vineyard with Suzanne and Bun. He had hoped to rest before searching the next day, as Troy had managed to talk him out of returning directly to his search alone when everyone else had left for their own homes, but Suzanne had clung to him and spun a story so unbelievable it could not be true and yet how else would she have come up with it?

“We stopped at the castle because the landslide took out the main road and the side road was too dangerous in the dark,” Suzanne had said as she refused to lessen her grip on Kent’s arm as the doctor attempted to shoo him from the room he had carried her into after pulling her shaking form from the horse. “We thought it was abandoned, but there were candles lit and fires going. We heard a sound in another room and there were two meals set out steaming hot on the table.” Her nails had dug in when the doctor tried to pull her arms away and Kent had hissed.

“The teacup moved all on its own!” she had begged for him to understand, “It asked me if I wanted sugar or cream! We tried to run! We shouldn’t have stopped, but I just wanted something to give to Dicky and roses haven’t been in bloom for months, but then he came! I couldn’t escape! Byron just left me there!”

Kent had torn his arm away from the hysterical woman at that point and ran from the room.

A hand fell on Kent’s shoulder and he jumped, turning his eyes on Troy’s concerned expression before sighing and loosening his shoulders. Kent shook his head. He didn’t need concern. He was simply tired.

Suzanne had spent the night screaming about some beast and Dicky taking her place until the doctor had given her something strong enough to completely knock her out.

Kent had been offered a room to stay in at that point, as Kit had been placed in the stables for her own much-needed rest, but sleep had come poorly for him. He heard when the doctor finally left in the early morning hours and rose with his own plans to charm some breakfast from the kitchen before returning to his search. Kent had heard the doctor leave, but had not heard Eric return.

That had been hours ago now.

“There’s been talk of wolves out in the forest,” Kent said as he finished his porridge and coffee and stood from the table, “He’s been out there without even his horse all night. I have to go find him.”

“I’ll see who else can join,” Troy suggested, “go home, wash up, pack for a longer search.”

“There’s no time. The cook here has already given me some provisions and I can hunt for anything I need.”

“Kent,” Troy argued, placing his hands heavily on Kent’s shoulders and forcing Kent to meet his eyes, “If you go out there without a plan, you’ll waste time. Let me gather some men and we can set up a proper search. We’ll cover more ground with the daylight.”

“Don’t you hear how the house’s servants are talking about Suzanne?” Kent hissed in a whisper, throwing Troy’s arms off, “This town doesn’t care. That’s fine. I’ll find him.” Kent picked up the bread and salted meat and cheese all wrapped together and turned to the back door. Kit would have had plenty of time to rest and would be fresh for another day of searching.

“Kent!” Troy called out in frustration, “This isn’t helping your case!”

“Eric’s out there facing who knows what, Troy!” Kent shouted over Troy’s words, “If his mom’s sane, he’s a prisoner to some monstrous beast and if she isn’t then there are wolves and the elements. I don’t care what the village thinks. I’m not losing anyone else I care about!”

Kent froze, eyes wide, and blinked at Troy as if to ask if he had just said what he thought he did. Troy’s pinched face told him he had and Kent’s shoulders shook as he took a deep breath in before slowly letting it out.

“I care about Eric,” he repeated calmly, “And I’m going to find him.”

He stood still, staring at Troy, waiting for a response, a defamation. Troy took in a deep breath. “Okay,” he nodded, pulling his bottom lip in to chew on it before nodding again. “Okay.”

“Really?” Kent found it hard to believe it would be this easy, but Troy’s smile was as easy going as ever.

“No matter what’s motivating you, the fact is that we do need to find Eric,” Troy said, “Give me a bit to run back and grab my own gear and I’ll go with you.”

“Thanks.”

_ “It came out of nowhere. We’d been taking this old beat-up road and could barely see the trail ahead of us even with the lanterns lit. We turned a corner and suddenly the castle was there. Byron said it had long been abandoned, so no one would mind if we just waited for daylight. I knew it was a bad idea. I could feel it like ice in my bones, but Byron wouldn’t be swayed. The wolves’ howling was spooking the horses and it just seemed safer, I guess.” _

_ Suzanne had been up and wrapped in layers against the early morning cold as she waited for Kent when he first woke. Her gaze shifted from the edge of the treeline that marked the vineyard’s boundary and over to Kent. It was empty, like she wasn’t even there. A shiver ran down Kent’s spine. _

_ He sat down in the chair next to her and her hand shot out to cling to his. _

_ “There was no one to open the door and yet it opened for us. There was no one to light candles and yet candles were burning all the way through to the dining room. A fire was going in the fireplace and two settings were placed in spaces typically reserved for guests, not residents,” she continued, her fingers shaking in her grip. “We had barely begun to eat when the teacup spoke to me. And then a clock. And a candelabrum. The dishes moved. We ran as fast as we could out of the castle and towards our wagon. We had nearly made it out of the gates but I had to stop. There were roses growing on the gate. I was amazed with how late in the year they were blooming and further up the mountain, too. Dicky had talked about not getting to make rose jam this year because of the move and the wedding and I thought there’d be nothing wrong with grabbing just enough for a small batch!” _

_ She paused then, the hand she was not clinging to Kent with, moving to cover her mouth and she sobbed. “The beast grabbed me as soon as I picked the first rose. The horses ran and I tried calling out for Byron, but they just kept going. The beast locked me up and I thought that was it, that I’d die there.” Suzanne sniffled and flapped both of her hands and Kent flexed his fingers to bring circulation back to them. _

_ “I didn’t mean for Dicky to take my place!” _

By the time Kit was saddled up and Kent had made it back to the entrance of the estate, Troy was riding up on Swoops with his own weapons and rations.

“Where do you plan to start?” he asked as they took off at an even pace for the mountain trail, “Where we found Suzanne?”

“You ever been to the abandoned castle she was talking about?” Kent asked.

“I wouldn’t step foot on it even with a priest’s blessing after what happened there,” Troy replied, ducking to avoid a low-hanging branch on the side of the trail as they entered the forest, “Don’t tell me you believe her story. Would you even be okay going there considering how close you were with—”

“If Bitty found it, he could’ve spent the night there,” Kent interrupted, his face twisted in displeasure, “I was thinking of searching for it. It’s been years so I don’t remember where it is.” In his mind, Kent could see a gate covered in climbing red roses. He just couldn’t remember the route before it.

Troy sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck. “I guess we’re searching for a castle, then.”


	9. The Baker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack’s stomach rumbled on cue and he looked away in embarrassment.
> 
> “Big guy like you must eat quite a lot,” Bitty simply stated as he waved Jack into place and placed some pheasant that had kept since his late night feasting in front of him. “Just use your hands to pull the meat off the bones. We can toss the carcass once we’ve picked it clean.”
> 
> “With my hands?” Jack confirmed, poking at the bird. “I’ll get hair in it.”
> 
> “And I’ll pick out any I find, but you got claws, so might as well put them to use,” Bitty replied, “And anyone standing around is volunteering to help. That’s just the way it is in my kitchen.”

Bitty awoke to the sun streaming in from the wrong side of the room and an ache that ran up his back and into his neck and shoulders.

He curled into a ball and whimpered, but his hand froze in the middle of reaching to rub at the soreness when the bed shifted. He opened his eyes to fur and winced as he lifted his head up to see Jack’s face hovering over his in concern. “I don’t know how long you slept on the chair,” he explained in sympathy, “I thought this might be better for you.”

“You moved me?” Bitty asked, his hand finally making the rest of its trek to rub at the back of his neck. He hissed, but forced himself to sit up and roll his shoulders, forcing Jack back to his side of the bed. When Jack didn’t reply, but instead stared out the doors to the balcony, Bitty took it as confirmation.

“Thank you,” Bitty said before standing up. He was still fully dressed, wearing even his shoes, and he had been sleeping on top of the blankets, but the comforter had been folded over him. Bitty knew he would be even worse off if Jack had left him sleeping in the chair he had righted and then pulled up alongside the bed when he’d finished treating Jack’s wounds last night after making it back to the castle.

“You could’ve left me.”

Bitty turned away this time, biting at the inside of his cheek. He had considered it. When the wolves had run off and Jack had collapsed, he’d been running for the road and home, but he had stopped and looked back and seen someone who had saved his life, at risk of his own, bleeding and in pain. His mother had always called him a tender soul.

“You could’ve let me die,” he pointed out. It was easier than explaining everything.

Jack did not seem to know how to respond to that one and Bitty stood at the edge of the bed in awkward silence until Jack huffed.

"You're under my care," he pointed out, arms crossing over his chest as he turned to look in the other direction.

Bitty blushed at that. "Thanks, I guess."

Silence fell once again and Bitty was not sure whether it was just because Jack was generally this quiet when he wasn't yelling at someone new or if everything that happened last night had something to do with it. His gaze slipped over to the rose Jack had chased him away from and he chewed at his bottom lip. "The rose has something to do with all of this, doesn't it?" he finally asked. "Why you're a beast," he explained when Jack turned a cautioning stare his way, "Why everyone else is furniture." He scuffed his toe on the floor and rubbed at his neck, "I'm sorry for intruding. Ransom told me not to last night; I should have listened."

Jack snorted but hunched his shoulders before letting his crossed arms fall. "I might have been too quick to shout," he admitted and Bitty was pretty certain that was the closest he was going to get to an apology. It was childlike, this sulking. Bitty remembered suddenly how Lardo had told him Jack had been a child when he'd been turned into a beast. He doubted Jack had any interaction with anyone save the group of living home goods that also called the castle home since.

"You were definitely too quick to shout," he muttered more to himself than Jack, but loud enough to be heard all the same.

"You were the one intruding!"

Bitty blinked because, yes, he had just apologized for that, but using an apology against him was downright mean. "Still doesn't mean you have to be so rude!" he scolded at the defensive rebuke.

Jack growled, his hackles raised, but then looked away and sighed in surrender. He rolled his bandaged shoulder and rubbed it against the headboard.

Bitty frowned. "Does it hurt?"

"No."

Bitty sighed at the petulant reply, especially as Jack continued to rub at the bandage. "If you don't stop that you're going to ruin the wrapping and tear any scabbing that's started. Does it itch?"

Jack did not reply and Bitty took that as the confirmation Jack was trying to avoid making.

"Good," Bitty said, only to draw a glare from Jack. "It means it's healing," he explained with a roll of his eyes.

"Oh, Lord, I’m starving " Bitty groaned, one of his hands raised to rub at his stomach, "Though I imagine you're at least as hungry. Are meals scheduled at certain times here? I'd offer to make us something, but I don't even know where the kitchens are."

"Can you cook?"

"Can I cook?" Bitty asked, incredulous at Jack's apparent awe, "While I prefer baking and spent two years doing just that to help my mother make ends meet after my father passed, I can, indeed, put together a decent meal." With a thought back to what had been laid out before him last night, however, Bitty was quick to correct himself, "At least, a decent meal for non-royalty. I'd imagine you could at least stomach it."

“I wouldn’t exactly say I’m picky,” Jack grumbled before tossing the rest of the covers to the foot of the bed. “I could show you,” he offered.

“You should be resting, mister,” Bitty rebutted, trying to throw the covers back over Jack who kept batting them away.

“It’s not that bad,” Jack snorted and Bitty suddenly realized he was grinning. He stuck his hands behind his back and bit at his lips until his cheeks stopped hurting. Jack used the time to stand up. “If you like cooking and know what you’re doing in a kitchen and how to clean up after yourself, I’m sure Betsy won’t mind the break,” he added with a smirk, “She’s long past the age to retire.”

“Well, I’d hate to step on anyone’s toes,” Bitty admitted, wringing his hands now, but following Jack all the same. He was wearing trousers only, but his fur must keep him warm enough. Bitty could feel the heat radiating off of him and drew just a little bit closer to fight off the castle’s autumnal chill.

“Oh, she doesn’t have toes anymore,” Jack said instead, his shoulders shaking in a snigger. Bitty’s jaw dropped in horror for the thirty seconds it took him to remember that most houseware and furniture did not, in general, have toes.

“You just show me that kitchen of yours and we’ll see if I’m still in a good enough mood to feed you, too,” Bitty deadpanned.

It was not a long trek from the earlier forbidden west wing to the entry hall. From there, a servants’ access door led down to the kitchen. It was, however, long enough to build suspense, so, when Jack stopped the both of them outside a plain wood door, Bitty’s breath caught.

“Close your eyes,” Jack said and Bitty frowned.

“Jack, I know what a kitchen looks like. They all serve the same purpose. Castle or not, magic or not, it’s not gonna look that different from anything I’ve seen before.

“Close your eyes,” Jack said again and he looked so excited that Bitty sighed and gave in.

Jack grabbed his hands with his own very large paws in what had to be the most gentle touch Bitty had ever felt and slowly led him into the room. He stood there, hands held in Jack’s and vibrated, waiting for permission to look.

“Okay, open them,” Jack said. Bitty did exactly that and the room came to life. There was noise; so much noise. It surrounded Bitty in familiar warmth even if the sights before him were impossible. Dishes cleaned and dried themselves and put themselves away. It was a miracle. Enchanted kitchens were miracles.

In his awe, Bitty dropped Jack’s hands and stepped towards the counters. The stove hummed to life, going from dark and lifeless to red and orange with flame and popping wood and Bitty wanted to cry at how easy it was. Scratch that. Enchanted kitchens were heaven.

“There’s so much counter space!”

“You like it?” Jack asked nervously.

Bitty spun around to face Jack once more, his hands covering his mouth and eyes watering, “I love it! Jack, this is an amazing kitchen!”

Jack smiled, one fang popping out on the side and Bitty did not even try to convince himself he didn’t somehow find it endearing. “Good,” said Jack, “It’s yours.”

“What?” Bitty looked around the room, at the flying dishes and the oven that had taken to shouting commands at those that dared flick water anywhere in her vicinity. “I couldn’t.”

“It’s my castle, Bitty,” Jack confirmed, “And I say you can.”

“No, Jack, I mean, a kitchen’s an important place and belongs to its cook.” Bitty shook his head, “It can’t belong to me.”

“If you want to take over a meal or two, you can slap your name over every square inch of this place,” the oven called out in a haggard voice as a log popped and she spluttered, “I’m too old to be running a kitchen.”

“Your service has been nothing but commendable,” Jack said.

“Supper last night was amazing,” Bitty added before realizing who he had said that in front of. He side-eyed Jack, wondering if he would be in trouble for sneaking food, or if he’d get the others in trouble for feeding him. But Jack only grinned at him and Bitty flustered and turned back to the oven with a red face.

“Your highness, there is no point in charming an old crone like myself,” the oven said.

Bitty shook his head. “I’m sure he hasn’t said a single untrue word.”

It took no time at all for Bitty to end up thoroughly entrenched in a discussion on pastry crust with the oven as he began digging through the kitchen for ingredients for a pie.

“I thought we were having a meal,” Jack frowned as Bitty began pinching butter into flour.

“You can put meat in pie,” Bitty pointed out before noticing how awkwardly Jack was just standing in the middle of the room, “Get over here and put those big paws of yours to work tearing up this leftover pheasant if you’re just gonna stand there anyway.”

Jack blinked, his paws rising up and fidgeting in surprise. “Help make food?” he asked, his brows furrowing in confusion.

“Of course,” Bitty said, “Food tastes better when you help make it. Besides, it’ll be done that much faster and I know I can’t be the only hungry one in this room.”

Jack’s stomach rumbled on cue and he looked away in embarrassment.

“Big guy like you must eat quite a lot,” Bitty simply stated as he waved Jack into place and placed some pheasant that had kept since his late night feasting in front of him. “Just use your hands to pull the meat off the bones. We can toss the carcass once we’ve picked it clean.”

“With my hands?” Jack confirmed, poking at the bird. “I’ll get hair in it.”

“And I’ll pick out any I find, but you got claws, so might as well put them to use,” Bitty replied, “And anyone standing around is volunteering to help. That’s just the way it is in my kitchen.”

Bitty side-eyed Jack and smirked to himself when he saw the dopey grin with the fang poking out on Jack’s face again. It was a good grin. He should show it more often, Bitty decided as he went back to pinching butter into flour.

Conversation flowed as freely as it always did in any kitchen Bitty had ever set foot into. While Jack might not be the most talkative individual, Bitty sure had plenty to say as he explained his steps in adding water to the crust and forming the base in a dish along with his learning mishaps and stories of dishes he had made with his mother.

Betsy cut in with her own commentary and suggestions, decades spent in a kitchen giving her little bits of baking wisdom Bitty had never heard of before. He wanted to try every last one to test each for himself and already had plans for the coming days.

With the crust prepared, he moved to sorting through the pheasant Jack had picked off the bone as best he could, shredding it further and pulling out pieces of cartilage and fur that had been missed by Jack’s large hands.

When he looked up from his work, it was to find Jack licking the juice from the meat off his paws. As his tongue ran up one finger to the claw at the end, Jack opened his eyes and froze, claw in his mouth, when he noticed Bitty eyeing him in disbelief.

His paws fell down to the counter and he stared at them, shoulders hunched and refusing to look back in Bitty’s direction. “I’ll...just wash my hands,” he said and shuffled over to the sink.

The dishes had already finished washing themselves and long since put themselves away, so Jack had the sink to himself. Bitty used the chance to chop up some of the fall vegetables not chilling in the root cellar. When Jack came back to the work area, Bitty purposeful made eye contact with him before popping a slice of carrot into his mouth and grinning.

Jack laughed and Bitty could feel his smile widen and his cheeks go warm. Even though it wasn’t the jocular sniggering from before, it was a laugh all the same and it brought a soft smile with it.

“Now get over here and help me put this top crust on while I make sure the oven’s set to go,” Bitty commanded as he dumped the meat and vegetables into the crust covered dish and poured a gravy he had thrown together over top it all.

“Wait,” Jack said, his eyes wide, “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Bitty snorted. “Literally all you have to do is take this pie crust I’ve already rolled out and put it on top of the pie,” he cajoled, “That’s it. Promise.” He grabbed Jack by the arm and tugged him into his place in front of the pie before walking to the oven, humming as he bent down to check the heat and add some more fuel to keep it burning.

“Ransom runs around without needing to be constantly wound up, but apparently I can’t be that lucky,” Betsy complained, “And place the pie a bit to your right. I don’t heat up the most evenly anymore.”

“Will do,” Bitty promised as he scraped some ash away, “Is Betsy your new name, too?”

“Oh, heavens, no. I’ve always been Betsy since I was a tot. This new name nonsense works for the younger ones, but for us older staff, ten years is not a very long time. Hall, Murray and Alice all kept their names, too. Or so I’ve heard. Not everyone’s small or mobile enough to make it down to the kitchen.”

“Bitty, I’m messing up your pie,” Jack called out in sheer terror from the workstation, “Look at this, it’s awful.”

“Well if you ever want me to deliver a message for you, just let me know,” Bitty said quickly with a pat to a decorative piece that wouldn’t be too hot, as he turned around to help Jack. “Stop it; I’m sure it’s great.”

Jack stood there, frozen in fear, crust hanging from holes his claws had punched into the dough. “I have no idea why you’re trusting me with this. I’ve never cooked in my life. Look!”

Most of the crust had made it over the pie, though stretched a bit thin in some places where Jack had not moved it quite fast enough. The puncture marks were fine, however, and would allow the steam to vent, which was for the better. All in all, it might not be a pretty pie, but it was functional. And Jack looked so concerned.

“It’s fine!” Bitty promised as he walked up and started pinching the seams. “The great thing about pie is it’ll taste good even if it looks a little funny.”

“You admit I’m messing it up, then,” Jack demanded.

Bitty pursed his lips and shook his head. With the crust pinched down, he cut off the excess and used it to cut out a few shapes to cover the parts of the crust that were too thin.

He wiped his hands on his trousers and smiled down at the pie before smiling up at Jack. “I just said it’ll taste fine no matter how it looks,” he corrected before picking up the pie and walking it over to a waiting Betsy.

“No one’s expecting his royal highness to make a perfect pie for a quick lunch,” Betsy added as she shifted the pie just a bit more to her left before settling in with a pleased hum.

Bitty leaned his elbow against the counter and stared up at Jack with a raised eyebrow. “So what’s all this I keep hearing with your highness, your highness? You some sort of prince or something?”

Jack looked away, scratching at his jaw. “You could say that.” He shrugged and dropped his hand, “Not sure I have much of a title anymore, though.”

Bitty wrapped his arms around his torso and clenched at his elbows as he shifted so he faced away from the counter. “There’s so much I don’t know,” he admitted, “I don’t know what to ask and what to leave be.”

“It’s not really important anymore,” Jack stated, “As far as my parents know I disappeared ten years ago.”

“You can’t be much older than me,” Bitty argued, looking straight up at Jack, his eyes burning as his fingernails dug into the fabric of his shirt, “Lardo said you were a kid when y’all got cursed.”

Jack shook his head, “Not that much of one,” Jack answered, but his claws dug into the wooden countertop and left grooves behind.

Bitty shook at the sound and at the display of strength but reached out with his hand to cover one of Jack’s own. “If I’m gonna be here for a while, I want to know as much as you’ll tell me,” he said, “But you have all the time in the world to do it.”

Bitty did not expect the grimace on Jack’s face and quickly backpedaled. “Assuming you want to of course.” He looked around the room and said, “I’m surprised we haven’t seen any of the others,” as a change in topic.

“Oh, yeah, not so much as a peep, eh? That’s a surprise,” Jack responded with a stiff voice and shoulders, but his eyes and long exhale spoke of relief.

“They seemed the loud, nosy sort,” Bitty grinned, remembering last night and how everyone he’d met had been so curious and talkative and happy to meet him.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Jack shrugged, “And it’s been awhile since anyone new stuck around and didn’t scream the moment they started talking.”

Bitty thought back to when Holster had come up to him, shouting about a tour and swinging flames around at the end of his arms that Bitty had been forced to dodge while carrying him as Ransom called out directions and begged them not to wander off and commanded Bitty specifically to avoid the west wing. It was not something normal people saw every day, but it wasn’t terrifying once you got past the oddity of it.

“I never said it was a bad thing,” Bitty agreed, “Though their absence does mean we got to make our pie in peace.”

“If it turns out,” Jack grumbled, “I told you it was a bad idea to let me touch that crust.”

“And I’m telling you it’ll turn out just fine,” Bitty said right back with a calming wave of his hand, “Here, we can even have a look. It’s been long enough the top crust should be starting to brown.”

Bitty squatted and tugged Jack down with him as he opened the oven to show off their pie. It was, indeed, beginning to brown on top and there appeared to be some gravy, leaking out of the holes Jack had accidentally torn, dribbling off the side. A drop fell to the bottom of the oven and sizzled.

“See? It’s a mess,” Jack sighed as he stood up.

“A delicious smelling half-mess,” Bitty corrected with a smile as he reached in with quick fingers to turn the pie a bit. He hummed as he stood and closed the door, picking up a tune that had been popular when he was a child. He and his mother would sometimes dance to it when they worked together in the kitchen.

He let a few small steps through as he backed away from the heat of the oven and back towards a small prep table.

“You like music?”

“I love music,” Bitty replied with a fond smile as he leaned onto the table, “And dancing.” His feet tapped a quick staccato. “Growing up, I always loved watching everyone. The girls’ dresses would swish around the floor all bright colors and flowy movements and then the boys’d be hopping about and you could actually see their feet move.” He sent Jack an embarrassed but secretive grin, “I secretly learned the steps for both. I wanted to see if I could make myself look like I was floating like the girls did, but I think you have to be wearing a dress for that.”

“Let’s hold a ball.”

Bitty blinked before narrowing his eyes, not sure if he had heard correctly. “Really? A ball?”

“Well, I mean, not really a ball since it’d just be us,” Jack said with a shrug, the way his eyes widened and eyebrows rose showing how surprised he was at the words that had come out of his mouth, “but we could dance.”

His claws clacked as he tapped his fingers together and rocked back and forth onto his heels. “You could dance the girls’ part if you wanted,” he continued to mutter, “You could even wear a dre—”

“I don’t want to wear a dress,” Bitty cut in with a sharp tone before his face melted back into a smile, “But dancing sounds amazing and I don’t mind having a guy as my partner. When?”

“Tomorrow?”

Bitty worried at his bottom lip. “It’s a bit sudden…”

“Not like there are any invitations to send,” Jack pointed out.

Bitty liked the sound of that. A private ball, just for him. And Jack. “Tomorrow then,” he beamed, “Lord, I’ll have to get Foxtrot’s help in finding something to wear!”

Betsy cleared her throat, sounding like a snapping of wood and a groaning of metal. “Before that,” she warned once she held both men’s attention, “you might want to check this pie before it burns.”


	10. The Suitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A soft blanket of white covered everything, from the marble balustrade they stood before to the skeletal branches of dormant trees. Pines drooped with extra weight and the lawn, itself, did not contain a single footprint or divot. All the while, snow continued to fall. Jack could see it, settling on his shirtsleeves and on his fur. It settled on Bitty, too, melting against his cheeks, but remaining intact when it landed on the jacket he huddled in or his hair.
> 
> Bitty rubbed his face against the jacket’s lapel when another flake landed near his eye and leaned his head against Jack’s arm.
> 
> It was now or never.
> 
> “Are you happy here?” Jack asked, when he saw Bitty’s smile. “Could you be happy here?” he added, just in case Bitty’s answer was no.

“I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot.”

One of the coat racks dumped another bucket of hot water on him, but over the rushing, Jack could hear Holster argue, “I mean, yeah, he’s an idiot.”

Jack growled.

“But at least you stumbled on the right step this time! Let me finish, bro, fuck,” Holster grumbled, preferring to stay further away from water and focusing on picking the best outfit out of the very few that fit. As much as Foxtrot said she was happy to make more as it gave her something to do, Jack never knew what to do with her creations. It was not as if he had anyone to wear them for.

At least, he hadn’t before now.

Jack took a deep breath, grabbed the bucket out of the coat rack’s arms and dumped the water on his own head. He considered the possibility of pulling the bucket down over his head, of hiding in some dark and confined space, alone, and it helped his heart rate drop just enough that, when the coat rack tugged on the bucket, Jack relinquished it.

“Better?” Shitty asked from the tableside, his reflective surface white with steam.

“A bit,” Jack admitted.

“Good,” Shitty responded, “Now get your beautiful ass out of that tub. You’re a fucking beast to dry with all that fur.”

“Not funny,” Jack replied with a shake of his head, but he got out of the tub anyway, set all four feet on the ground and shook the worst of the water off, splattering everyone and everything within range.

Despite his distance, Holster ducked behind a wardrobe door for extra security, tugging Ransom, with all his metal cogs, to safety as well.

“Fuck man, this is what I meant when I said you were a beast to dry,” Shitty cursed as he twisted this way and that in an attempt to wipe off the drops of water he’d been hit by.

Nursey and Dex peeked out from behind Lardo and Chowder blew a tea bubble that overflowed in suds before twisting his face into a grimace. “Ewwww! I got soap in me!” he complained and spilled his contents into the tub of used bath water.

“Holster, is that really the outfit you’re picking for Jack?” Ransom complained from the wardrobe.

“Come here, Shits.” Lardo rolled her eyes and beckoned the still wriggling and dripping mirror over, shooting a blast of steam at him that fogged his reflective surface over again, but blew the last of the water drops away.

“It’s the fanciest one! Jack needs to look his best!” Holster argued back.

“Wow!” Shitty crowed in amazement.

“It’s a costume! From last year’s Halloween party! Not a suit! This isn’t a masque!” Ransom argued, “How are you even a valet when you can’t pick out clothes?”

“I’m gonna go check on Bitty,” Lardo spoke through the chaos as she tapped over to the door of the suite, “Frogs, follow me.”

“Jack’s never had a complaint!” Holster argued, “And you have no right to complain, M. Pink Trousers!”

“They’re salmon and they look good on me!” Ransom shouted.

“Blue.”

“Huh?” Ransom, Holster and Shitty all turned to Jack as he spoke over them.

“I’ll wear the blue suit,” he muttered, his shoulders inching up towards his ears as he added, “Bitty said light blue matched my eyes.”

“Oh shit, that’s too cute,” Shitty gawped.

Ransom looked Jack up and down before turning to Holster and saying, “He’s totally right, bro. Put that away and pull out the powder blue one.”

Holster clutched the fabric to his chest with one unlit hand and wiped at a waxy eye with the other. “I can feel it in my heavy golden center, Rans,” he gasped, “Tonight’s the night! We’ll be human again soon. I’ll be taller than tables again!”

He threw the purple and red fabric over his head before jumping into the wardrobe and tossing a powder blue suit onto the nearby chair.

“In the meanwhile, Jack-o,” Shitty said as he settled himself directly in front of Jack’s face to show off wild cowlicks, “You are in serious need of a trim.”

A coat rack drew up alongside Jack, snipping a pair of scissors menacingly.

It took three hours and word from Lardo that Bitty was both ready and waiting before Jack finally took one last look in the mirror, feeling sick to his stomach as he took in his animal appearance. Nothing could actually make him look appealing as a partner. He glanced at the rose, still holding place of prominence in the room, but only bearing a measly four petals. They had been falling off at a faster rate every since he had awoken today, each petal landing on the table with a heavy thud in Jack’s chest. Everything would be decided tonight, if it hadn’t been set in stone the moment the enchantress placed the curse. It was a terrifying enough prospect to make Jack want to hide away for the night, until he knew his fate for sure and certain. Not wanting to let Bitty down, however, he walked out the door.

Bitty stood at the top of the stairs heading into the foyer from the east wing when Jack turned the corner. He was chatting with Chowder as he waited, and Jack, for a moment, forgot to breathe.

Bitty’s suit was a brilliant gold silk with a shining background and deep brocade patterns running the length of overcoat, waistcoat and breeches. The candle light glittered off it and his hair and, when Bitty turned his way with a shy smile, Jack finally gasped, smacking his fist against his chest to calm his pounding heart.

It didn’t work and, as Jack moved down the stairs from the west wing to meet up with Bitty, he could feel his hands shaking, suddenly grateful for his fur-covered body because at least he did not sweat—even if he was a panting mess in the summer.

At the bottom of the stairs, Jack took a deep breath and held out his paw. It shook still, but, with focus, he managed to keep it in place. Bitty’s shy smile turned sympathetic as he noticed and he placed his hand in Jack’s. It was shaking, as well, and Jack closed his fingers around it as carefully but firmly as he could. Bitty was amazing. Jack wished his tongue wasn’t stuck to the roof of his mouth and he could actually say as much.

The ballroom had been thoroughly cleaned after years of a mixture of neglect and hard use. The floor to cathedral ceiling windows reflected the light of the candles in the gleaming gold gilded chandeliers. Outside had long since grown dark, but, every so often, a few flakes of white fluttered into view proving winter had finally arrived.

Beside him, Bitty gasped, the fingers clenched in the hand Jack held. Jack absently stroked his thumb along the back of Bitty’s wrist as he turned to study his awe of the room only to find the candlelight reflecting in Bitty’s dark brown eyes as it did in the windows.

“Jack…”

Jack blinked at the sound of his name on such a breathless whisper and noticed the awe with which Bitty was now staring at him. Jack dropped his eyes and cleared his throat, stilling his thumb when he found it still brushing a steady rhythm along Bitty’s hand.

“Hopefully none of the dances I know are out of style,” he said before straightening his spine, rolling his shoulders back and looking to the harpsichord. March sent a wink back in his direction before beginning to play.

It was the song Bitty had been humming yesterday and Jack stood nervously, his full attention on Bitty as he waited for his reaction. When Bitty gasped, hand at his mouth, before looking at Jack with teary eyes, Jack almost wondered if he had messed up. Instead, Bitty shook his head and beamed up at him.

“Well, aren’t you gonna ask me to dance?”

“Would you do me the honor?” Jack asked with a bow, holding their linked hands up between them.

Bitty nodded his head and adjusted his grip and Jack pulled Bitty into position for a waltz.

The size difference was almost comical and actually required some adjustments on the hold. Bitty’s hands could wrap around no more than half of his paw, and his arm span was near half of Jack’s, as well, so Jack kept his elbow bent and palm up and open, using one of his fingers to keep tension with Bitty’s own cupped hand.

Jack’s other paw spanned nearly the entire breadth of the middle of Bitty’s back, where he had to rest it so Bitty could rest his other hand on top of his arm, barely reaching the interior of Jack's elbow rather than resting on his bicep.

The music was odd, as they only had the harpsichord to play for them, but everything about tonight was similarly odd, and, as with a harpsichord’s sound, similarly entrancing. Jack moved in steps small enough to not force Bitty into leaping around him and Bitty leaned into his hold, laying his head against Jack’s chest in a manner definitely not becoming of a waltz. Jack only held him closer. Bitty smiled up at his rumble of approval and Jack lost himself in Bitty’s eyes once again.

The song came to an end and Jack and Bitty’s dancing came to a halt in the middle of the empty ballroom, but neither took the first step in breaking apart. Bitty looked good in his arms, all warm honey gold and soft silk cradled in the powdered blue patterned velvet of Jack’s jacket. He looked safe there, as well, fully held within the protective confines of Jack’s arms. It would be good, Jack thought, if he never left them again.

A rattle and cold breeze brought both men’s attention to the door, which had been opened. The candles on the chandeliers had dimmed enough to show the fresh layer of snow outside, along with what was still falling down.

“I hadn’t realized how much snow we’d gotten,” Bitty said in surprise.

There was probably a good two inches outside and, by the looks of what was coming down, they would gain at least one more before the storm cleared up. Next to each of the open double doors, Ransom and Holster peeked out at him and winked and Jack sighed at their attempts to help him romance Bitty.

“Would you like to go for a walk?” he asked, all the same.

Bitty frowned and hummed as he continued to watch the snow fall, taking another step closer to Jack as he shuddered. “I don’t do too well with the cold,” he admitted, “but it is pretty to see. The village I grew up in barely ever got more than a dusting.”

When Bitty moved, Jack instantly adjusted to accommodate, wrapping his large arms further around Bitty’s small form. “I’ll lend you my jacket,” Jack said when he pulled away, slipping it off and resting it on Bitty’s shoulders. “I have my own built-in fur coat.”

Bitty laughed and tugged the jacket tighter around himself. “I guess a quick little walk sounds kinda nice,” he acquiesced, “But we’re coming back in the moment I say it’s too cold.”

Jack grinned and held his arm out for Bitty to take once he’d looped his arm through the sleeve of Jack’s oversized jacket. They passed a small station set up with pastries, pies and some savory treats.

“I made so much tonight, but ended up being too nervous to eat anything,” Bitty admitted before continuing past the table. Jack took them back and picked up two miniature quiches, making sure to hold one out until Bitty took it.

“Why?” Jack asked. He tossed the quiche into his mouth and ate the entire thing in one bite.

Bitty laughed and shook his head, but took a small bite of his own. “Jack…” he explained, his eyes on his quiche as he brushed a few crumbs off from the crust, “I still don’t know what to think of you.”

“I...should apologize for that first night,” Jack responded immediately.

“Thank you,” Bitty said before taking another bite. He chewed slowly and waited until he’d swallowed before looking up at Jack and continuing, “It wasn’t quite what I meant, but thank you.”

Bitty finished his last bite of the quiche and the two finally stepped outside.

“Oh, Lord, it’s cold!” Bitty tightened his hold on Jack’s arm and hunched his shoulders up to his ears.

“Too cold?” Jack asked, ready to walk them back inside if needed. They could always look at the snow tomorrow, when Bitty had more layers and a hat and scarf to help hold the heat in better.

“Not quite yet,” Bitty said with a tight smile, but his eyes were wide as he stared out at the palace grounds.

A soft blanket of white covered everything, from the marble balustrade they stood before to the skeletal branches of dormant trees. Pines drooped with extra weight and the lawn, itself, did not contain a single footprint or divot. All the while, snow continued to fall. Jack could see it, settling on his shirtsleeves and on his fur. It settled on Bitty, too, melting against his cheeks, but remaining intact when it landed on the jacket he huddled in or his hair.

Bitty rubbed his face against the jacket’s lapel when another flake landed near his eye and leaned his head against Jack’s arm.

It was now or never.

“Are you happy here?” Jack asked, when he saw Bitty’s smile. “Could you be happy here?” he added, just in case Bitty’s answer was no.

Bitty stared at him with a studying frown. Jack could feel it despite his inability to maintain eye contact. “I am very happy here, Jack,” he finally said and Jack’s shoulders loosened a bit. “I can see myself staying happy,” he added and Jack could breathe again.

“Even though I said you couldn’t leave?” he asked, this time looking at Bitty because he had to see, had to hear, had to know with every sense possible that Bitty was not simply playing along because Jack told him to. Shitty’s words from when Bitty had first arrived echoed around in Jack’s skull and he wondered if he had messed up any chance of Bitty being the one to break the curse by forcing him to stay here in exchange for his mother’s freedom in the first place.

“I wouldn’t want to,” Bitty said, “Leave, that is. I like being here. Honest.” He looked out at the night for a moment and then down at himself. “I finally feel like it’s okay to be me.” He shrugged and smiled wanly up at Jack.

Jack opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the muffled staccato of a horse’s gallop. Both men turned to the corner of the castle in confusion as a horse and rider rounded the corner.

“Eric!” the rider shouted and Jack felt his entire body tense when Bitty leapt forward in surprised recognition.

_“Kent?”_

The horse drew to a sliding halt right next to them and Kent threw himself off the horse, tearing Bitty away from Jack and pushing between them.

“Kent!” Bitty cried out.

“Stay back!” Kent commanded as he drew out his handgun, “There’s only one way to deal with wild beasts.”

“You got it wrong!” Bitty argued as he grabbed Kent’s arm and pulled the gun down and away from Jack.

“Eric, stop!”

“A wild beast wouldn’t be wearing clothes! Put that gun away now, Kent Parson, or so help me—!”

Jack had been staring in shock at the proceedings. While the gun had been a terrifying deterrent from taking any action, it was something about his assailant that kept Jack still even after Bitty had pushed the muzzle to the ground and shoved a hand between the flint and frizzen to prevent it from firing.

It was a secret hidden in hooded eyes and freckles and a cowlick even worse than Bitty’s. It was memories in a turned up nose and pale skin and a smirk that dared him to do more, be more. A flash of a lifetime ago with his parents shouting at him and another boy with a lopsided grin to stop teasing the geese. They hadn’t and one had retaliated, taking bites at both boys with razor sharp teeth.

“Kenny?” Jack asked, barely able to remember and not fully willing to believe.

Both Bitty and Kenny froze in their squabble and looked at Jack. Bitty searched for assurance, but Kent’s dark eyes and far-away gaze proved him to be searching for something else.

It wouldn’t be a surprise if Kenny didn’t remember. It had been ten years ago since they’d last met and Jack looked substantially less human than the last time they had ran through the castle grounds or set traps in the surrounding mountains for rabbits, dragging their quarry back to Betsy and grinning as she shouted at them for bringing so much filth in with them.

“Jack?” It was a tenuous question, not quite a plea but certainly a wish and Kent’s eyes were wide now with disbelief.

“Kenny…” Jack confirmed and he watched the other man’s world crumble and rebuild.

“No,” Kent said first, “You can’t—you can’t be.” His breath quickened and hands fidgeted, dropping the gun into Bitty’s grasp completely. Bitty quickly uncocked the hammer.

“Jack went missing,” Kent continued, pacing now, and shouting, “Ten years ago! I know! I looked everywhere! I—! They said you were dead!”

“When I suddenly turned into this, what was I supposed to do?” Jack asked, but the realization that he had been dead to everyone outside this castle stung. He couldn’t even imagine how his parents had taken it. The memory of his mother screeching for him as she ran through the castle searching still woke him crying some nights.

Kent stopped pacing, his face dangerously pale and his eyes rimmed red. “I feel sick.”

With his words sounding about as faint as his face looked, Bitty jumped into action, brushing the layer of snow off of part of the terrace’s balustrade and directing Kent to sit.

“Honey, go ahead and put your head between your knees,” he suggested as he pressed on Kent’s back until he bent as far over as he could go without falling forward. “Yes, just like that,” he praised, “and put your hands up on the back of your head or neck. I’ve got you, now. Just breathe.”

Kent’s fingers gripped first at his neck, as Bitty had recommended, and then at Bitty’s arms, crumpling the sleeves of Jack’s coat as Bitty counted through each breath for Kent until he finally had enough control to nod his head and look back at Jack.

He still kept hold of Bitty, however. Jack watched as Kent’s hands remained on Bitty’s shoulders even after they both stood and Kent had turned back to look at him.

“You’re alive?” he asked, “All this time I thought...and you’ve been here?”

Jack nodded.

“Alone?”

Jack glanced at Bitty, but Bitty shook his head. As much as it felt, to Jack, that Bitty had always been here, at his side, a part of his life, they both knew a couple days of his presence was not what Kent was asking about.

“The staff—” Jack muttered, trailing off as he tried to find the best way to explain.

“They’re here, too?” Kent asked, his neck craning around in search of anyone else.

“What do you think you were just sitting on, sweetheart?” Bitty smiled and taunted, trying to loosen the atmosphere.

Kent looked at Bitty in horror before turning to study the marble work, running a hand along the cold surface.

“I’m kidding,” Bitty smirked, “That’s just stone.” With a look back at the castle as he rubbed at his arms, he added, “but the staff apparently did kinda get turned into talking furniture.”

Kent blinked. “The cup…”

“Cup?” Bitty asked, looking to Jack in confusion before his eyes widened in realization. “Oh, you mean Chowder?” he asked with a fond grin, “He’s a doll!”

“Chow—the footman?” Kent looked to Jack for that answer and Jack nodded.

“Nurse and Poindexter are a sugar bowl and creamer,” Jack added.

Kent laughed because, “They fucking would be.”

“How’d you know about Chowder?” Bitty asked then, “How do you know Jack?”

Kent and Jack both frowned then, sending a glance at one another. Kent looked away first, back at Bitty and gnawed at his lip. “Eric...I’m here for a reason,” he began. Jack noticed he still had the same nervous tick of pounding his fist against his leg.

“Well I’d imagine you didn’t wind up here on your way to the john,” Bitty agreed.

Kent sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. “No,” he said in slight annoyance, “Eric, your mother—”

That got Bitty’s attention as he dove headfirst into what Kent was trying to say. “What about my mother? I sent her home!” His hands gripped at Jack’s jacket, which he still swam in, and Jack might have taken the shouting for anger if Bitty’s eyes were not wide with fear.

“She’s home alright,” Kent confirmed, “but your father—”

“That man is not my father!”

Kent’s eyes widened at the vehemence in Bitty’s words, but his lips thinned. “M. Chevalier,” Kent tried again through gritted teeth, “has the whole village thinking she’s gone nuts. He wants to lock her away.”

“No,” Bitty whispered in disbelief. He shook his head. “No, they can’t.”

“They will,” Kent said, “I’ve been looking for you for days; since you went missing. Mostly on my own.” That admission spoke of more to Jack of Bitty’s mistreatment than Bitty had ever admitted to and he growled at the village’s abandonment of one of their own.

Kent side-eyed him, but continued speaking all the same, reaching out to grab onto Bitty’s arms. “I’ve only been stopping back in the village to see if you’d happened to pop up because Chevalier claimed your mother had been attacked by a beast, like a bear. We were hoping after you’d sent her home on Bun, you would follow behind on foot.”

“You mean you were hoping?” Jack asked, already beginning to understand just what kind of place Bitty had left behind.

Kent glared at Jack but quickly turned back to Bitty. “It’s all anyone can talk about,” he begged for understanding.

“She’s not crazy!” Bitty tore himself from Kent’s hold and backed away from Kent, but he did not turn to Jack. He stood, on his own, shivering in his extra oversized layer as the falling snow continued to build up on his shoulders and melt at his hairline.

“I know that,” Kent said. He glanced at Jack and sighed and admitted, “Now. But they don’t.”

Bitty scoffed.

“She’s been talking about a beast and talking teacups and roses since she got back and none of it makes any sense to any of them because they don’t know the truth.”

“Now you do!” Bitty shouted back, “You can tell them!”

Kent looked away and his shoulders fell. “I don’t think they’ll listen to me anymore…”

“That’s like saying the sun isn’t gonna rise out of the east tomorrow,” Bitty argued, stepping back into Kent’s line of sight only to have Kent look away once more. “Why wouldn’t they believe you?”

Bitty might not understand what the look Kent shot at him then meant, but Jack did. The clenched jaw and fists and furrowed stare, eyes lit with grim determination all spoke of a man who would do anything to hold that which he desired. Jack knew because he could feel the same things buzzing in his fingertips and thoughts.

But then Kent looked at Jack and there was regret and guilt and still a healthy dose of disbelief as he said, “A number of reasons.” He did not look Jack’s way for long.

“Eric, you need to come back home.”

Bitty’s jaw quivered in its search for a response and he threw his arms up in surrender. “I can’t,” he said, rubbing at his eyes with a jacket sleeve.

Kent reached out and stepped forward, to grab onto Eric, but he paused half of a step in, conflict clear on his face until he turned in Jack’s direction.

“Please,” he asked in a deadset tone, “Jack.”

Jack sighed, barely able to breathe in at the anxious band tightening around his chest and shattering his heart. He nodded. “Go.”

“Jack?”

It was Bitty who spoke to him this time.

“Go home,” Jack ordered. “Go protect your mother.”

“Really?”

Jack told himself the heartbreak on Bitty’s face was wishful thinking and he nodded. “You’re free.”

Bitty ran into Jack, arms wrapping as tight and far around his chest as possible as he pressed his face into his vest. “Thank you, Jack.”

Jack could feel the words more than he could hear them and he placed gentle hands on Bitty’s back. Between his two paws, Jack could span its entire width and length and he was reminded once more of how small Bitty was despite how much space he had already taken up in Jack’s life.

“Come on,” Kent said, already astride his horse once more. He reached a hand out to Bitty and beckoned with impatience, “We don’t have time to waste. You can ride behind me on Kit.”

Bitty was slow to drag himself away from Jack’s embrace and his eyes were red when he did so. Almost without any thought to the idea, Jack pulled out Shitty and held him out. “Here, take this. It’s a magic mirror; you’ll be able to check on your mother that way.”

The filigree moustache spluttered and arms waved about in indignation. “Jack-O, I don’t think this is the best idea you’ve ever had,” Shitty argued, even as Bitty’s hands wrapped around him. “The rose’s petals!” he cried as he held onto Jack’s thumb, pulling at hairs that made Jack hiss and tear his hand away all the faster.

Bitty held onto Shitty with reverence, tucking him carefully into his own jacket, still hidden underneath Jack’s, before accepting Kent’s hand-up and settling in behind him, trying to find a comfortable position on a saddle made for one.

“You can look back on me, too, if you feel like it,” Jack muttered once Kent had turned Kit back toward the gated entry, his shoulders hunched.

“I’ll be back,” Bitty promised, his arms wrapping around Kent’s abdomen as Kit shuffled to get her feet under her through all the snow that had fallen and still fell.

Jack smiled fondly until Bitty turned away. He held his heartbreak in until the gate shut behind them. As Kit disappeared with her cargo, Jack let out a roar of agony. He would forever be a beast now, yes, but, far more importantly, he had lost the man he loved.

He walked back inside, alone and suddenly too cold and hard for the softly falling snow.

“Jack?” Ransom asked as Jack stumbled inside, tearing at his collar, unable to breathe.

“Where’s Bitty?” Holster asked, his attention still outside, not on the buttons flying off Jack’s shirt or the sound of tearing fabric.

“Gone,” Jack rasped and stalked across the ballroom.

“What do you m—”

“I let him go! He’s gone! He left for good!” Jack did not know how else to say it, how else to express his own self-loathing and yet the fact that, truly, there had been no other choice. He could not force Bitty to stay.

“What did Shits say?” Lardo asked next, her quiet, even voice somehow piercing through every other word and emotion in the room.

Jack huffed. “I gave him to Bitty.”

_“What?”_ That was asked by Chowder, not Lardo. Lardo looked at him now with an inscrutably calm face. Chowder’s was horrified.

“In this weather, this late at night?” Jack asked the lot of them, thinking of the trek down to the village and the wolves he had barely been able to fight off, “It was what I could do to make sure he got home safe.”

“So you just handed Shitty over? Bro.” Jack could hear Ransom’s unspoken disapproval.

“Did Shits agree?”

Jack did not respond to Lardo’s question, but everyone seemed to understand the answer all the same. Lardo turned around and began hopping away, her small form taking time to make it across the ballroom’s marble.

“Lardo…” Jack called out, but her hopping did not even slow.

The servants’ door slammed behind her and Jack stared at it for only a few seconds before heading out the main doors, ignoring the shouts and cries from everyone else.


	11. The Childhood Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years ago, Kent had a friend. That friend had not lived particularly close, but, every so often, they would play and hunt and test every boundary an adult put in place for them. Years ago, that friend had gone missing. Searches had been planned and carried out, but no one could find the boy or any of his or his home’s caretakers and Kent had lost his best friend.

Eric’s arms wrapped tight around his middle were the only anchor Kent currently had as his mind spun over everything that had just happened. He had been out searching the forest, as he had ever since Bitty’s disappearance, when he barely stumbled upon a trail at once foreign yet familiar. It was overgrown and out of use, but had clearly been around for a long time. Kent had turned down it out of instinct and despite all the wariness of his years in the forest, a bubble of childlike excitement had pressed its way into his throat.

It felt like going home and he thought he had imagined the smell of roses, his mind’s eye picturing bushes climbing and lining a fence, until he turned a corner and found the exact same fence waiting for him.

Years ago, Kent had a friend. That friend had not lived particularly close, but, every so often, they would play and hunt and test every boundary an adult put in place for them. Years ago, that friend had gone missing. Searches had been planned and carried out, but no one could find the boy or any of his or his home’s caretakers and Kent had lost his best friend.

“How do you know Jack?” The words were pressed against his shoulder but spoken loud enough to hear over the pounding of Kit’s hooves, especially in the silence of the falling snow.

“We played together when I was younger,” Kent replied, suddenly running into what had become of his friend pulling up all the old hurt, “I thought he was dead.” His voice caught like a torn nail and Eric’s arms tightened around his torso.

“When he went missing, I thought I could find him when the adults hadn’t,” he continued, “I was lost in the forest for days. I would have likely died in the next one or two if I hadn’t been found when I was.”

“Is that why you’ve been looking so hard for me?”

Kit’s canter slowed as Kent’s attention split between the conversation and trying to track his way through the forest. Snow could be deadly; it covered up tracks and trails and made landmarks difficult, if not impossible, to recognize. “Maybe partially,” Kent replied, his volume dropping now that he didn’t have to shout over the wind of their travel, “now that I think about it.”

His eyes tracked the dark edges of the path. It was dark after the light of the castle, but Kent’s eyes would be quick to adjust back to the natural light he had been searching in before. “I couldn’t lose you, even if it was just seeing you walking to the village from the distance or having you turn my invitations down.”

Eric’s arms loosened around him as he sat up on his own now that their pace had slowed enough. “It’s not that I avoid you.”

Kent scoffed before Eric could continue. “Eric,” he said, pleading for honesty, “You disappear the moment I’m within twenty yards of you.”

“Well, alright,” Bitty agreed, “maybe I avoided you.” Bitty sighed and leaned forward just enough to press his forehead against Kent’s nape. “I just can’t do it,” he admitted, “I can’t do and be what you and the rest of the village keep telling me I should do and be and, trust me, I get enough of that from that man.”

Kent didn’t respond at first, his focus on the trail as memory served to tell him a turn was coming up. Kit sidestepped a small rock sticking up out of the ground that had been nearly covered by the snow. Between the dark and the blanket of white, it was becoming more and more difficult to see. A chill ran its way up Kent’s spine, but his grip tightened on the reins and he kicked Kit back into a canter until they had rounded the corner.

“I couldn’t enter the forest for two years after I got lost in it,” Kent then spoke. “Anytime I got close, I’d freeze up or start shaking. Some of the older men finally dragged me in screaming and kicking and started teaching me how to track so I could always find my way back.”

Eric huffed. “If this is some story about facing your fears, Kent Parson, so help me—”

“No,” Kent interrupted with a firm shake of his head. Eric’s forehead still pressed against his neck and Kent felt the scratch of Eric’s hair rubbing against his skin. “I was able to get past the worst of it, but a part of me has always hated these mountains, too. I don’t really know what to think now that I’ve found Jack.”

It was easier to focus on the path in the following silence. Bitty kept his arms wrapped around Kent’s waist, but Kent barely noticed them. Instead, his attention fell on Kit who had begun to act antsy and was shying away from the treeline on their right. Kent heard the rustle of bushes just in time to pull Kit to a halt and avoid the wolf that sprang from out of the bushes.

Three others followed and surrounded them.

“Shit!” Kent cursed as he tried several times to slip around them, but, between Kit’s fear and the wolves’ teamwork, they remained penned.

The wolves circled too close for bow and arrow and a gun would take too long to reload, so Kent grabbed his spear, lancing out at one of the wolves and using the moment it leapt aside to kick Kit into gear.

“Hold on tight!” Kent commanded as Kit lurched into a gallop. Eric’s arms tightened around his waist and Kent leaned forward, pulling Eric with him, as his eyes kept to the sides for any wolf who dared to come close.

With Kit’s attention stretched between the attackers and the snow-covered ground, Kent knew she would tire fast—especially carrying both Kent and Eric. It was likely exactly what the wolves were planning on as this part of the trail narrowed and, as they began to descend, contained a few switchbacks, as well. It forced Kit to slow down to a point where the wolves were capable of keeping up and dashing in front of Kit to keep her spooked.

Kent was just glad she’d always been a calmer horse when one wolf drew close enough to snap at her legs and, instead of rearing, she stomped at it, only just missing. But it gave two other wolves the opening they were waiting for as one leaped from the other side, drawing Kent’s focus and defense, and another leapt up from behind, grabbing Eric in its jaws and tearing him off the horse.

Kent felt the tug before Eric’s hold broke and heard the cry and thud as he hit the ground. His reaction was instantaneous as he pulled hard on Kit’s reins and forced her to turn back. Already a pack of wolves had surrounded Eric, who had at least managed to stand back up and grab a branch, swinging it out wildly to keep the predators back. He didn’t look injured from this distance, but, as he turned, Kent could see gold peeking through where the wolf must have bit into the back of the oversized blue jacquard overcoat he had been wearing.

Kent dismounted instantly, leaving Kit to defend herself or run as needed and lunged into the fray.

There had been six wolves, from what Kent could see, making this a small pack that had likely been hunted a fair amount already. It was possible the one wolf pelt he had collected over the years had been a member of this same group. Either way, they seemed far more interested in the two humans now than in the horse that had sprinted off without its heavy load.

Kent speared one of the creatures in the side. It glanced off a rib, jolting Kent’s arms and giving the creature just enough time to turn on him. It was not the only one as four chose to focus on the greater threat while two remained behind, waiting for Eric to tire.

“Run!” Kent shouted to Eric as he kept the four wolves within his line of sight. “Get out of here as soon as you can!”

Eric lashed out with the branch and hit home as Kent heard a crack followed by a cry. “I’m not leaving you behind!” he shouted back.

Kent gritted his teeth, hating that now was the time Eric decided to show an interest in hunting, even if it was more a fight for survival.

“One of us has to make it back!” Kent shouted. He struck out with his spear only to have the lunge dodged as two of the wolves bit down on the weapon and tugged.

“Then you shouldn’t have stopped!”

Bitty squawked and Kent looked to see Bitty fall to the ground after tripping over something in the snow. Kent tugged on his spear all the harder and kicked out, landing a blow on the jaw of another wolf that had tried to get too close while Kent had been distracted. There was a crunching sound and Kent felt the shudder as the wolves’ teeth broke through the wooden arm, leaving him with naught but his dagger. Kent cursed.

He launched the last of the spear at the final wolf still trying for Eric. “I can’t hold them all back! Go save your mother!”

The first wolf lunged and Kent drew his blade from his belt, digging as deep into the creature’s chest as he could, while holding teeth back from his throat and face. It fell dead when he hit its heart, but another was there the moment he shoved its dead weight off. Kent shoved his forearm into the creature’s mouth to prevent the attack from becoming lethal. He did not scream any less as the pain from the creature’s bite took over and sent him thrashing in an attempt to get away.

A gunshot rang out, sending Kent’s ears ringing and the wolves stopped, looked behind them and scattered save for the one Kent had already killed. He sobbed in relief and curled around his arm as feet came running up to him.

“Kent!” Eric cried, throwing something heavy and warm over his shoulders.

Kent forced his eyes open, looking at Eric even as blurry as his vision was. The swatch of powder blue at the corner of his vision told Kent exactly what had been placed on him as Eric tried to pry his uninjured arm away from his injured one.

“I’ll be fine once we get it wrapped,” Kent croaked. The doctor would have to have a look at it once they got home, but he could at least make it that far, even if it was on foot.

“Kit?” he asked.

“She ran off the moment you hopped off, pretty sure,” Eric replied and Kent shook his head because he knew that. That wasn’t what he was trying to ask.

“She could be nearby,” he explained. “We should find her. There should be some supplies—”

“Hon, we’ve got plenty of fabric between the two of us,” Eric said, holding up strips of the blue jacquard, “This thing’s in shreds.”

Kent nodded his head in understanding even as he gave a grim frown, but peeled his bleeding arm away from his body to make it easier to treat. He hissed and whimpered but rolled it in the snow to clean off some of the blood and hopefully slow some of the bleeding. Eric was patient as he wrapped it, pausing for each flinch and working with gentle touches and deft fingers.

“Who shot?” Kent finally asked after Eric had tied the last knot and Kent had breathed slow and deep to force the pain and nausea down.

“Really, Kent?” Eric asked in disbelief before holding up Kent’s own gun, “I’ve had it with me since the castle. Not that I would’ve known how to load it if you hadn’t already, so thanks for that.”

Kent laughed before breaking off in a yelp of pain as it shook his shoulders. Eric frowned and his arms went to Kent’s shoulders. “Let’s get you home. You okay to walk?”

“Yeah.” Kent stood slowly, taking the time to look around as his body acclimatized to the pain. The first wolf he had killed still lay unmoving at his side, but a second lay bleeding out just inside the treeline.

“You hit it?” Kent asked in surprised.

“Thank the Lord,” Eric replied, “Figured we were probably both dead if it hadn’t worked. But Jack scared them off the last time I saw them, so I figured I might be able to do the same with a loud enough noise and a big enough threat.”

Kent stared over at where Eric had been standing last he had seen him and mentally measured the distance in awe. “From where you were standing?” he confirmed.

“You’d be the best shot in the village if you ever gave it a try,” he laughed in shock when Eric looked at him in confusion.

Eric handed the pistol over and shook his head, a look of disgust on his face. “It’s a good thing for you, then, I have no plans on using one ever again,” he replied, eyeing it as Kent stuck the weapon in his belt. The holster was on Kit’s pommel and made for him to grab easily if needed.

Now that he was a bit more clear-headed, Kent looked around before giving a piercing whistle. The snow had finally stopped, but the cold meant that, hopefully, his call would carry far enough.

“You made your first kill,” he pointed out all the same as he walked over to the creature and kicked at its paw to make sure it was, indeed, dead. It didn’t move. The blood around its muzzle proved it to be the one that had been gnawing on Kent’s arm and Kent was even more impressed. It took guts to shoot a gun in the direction of another person.

Either that or you had to not care if they were hit. Kent winced at that thought.

“Well I definitely don’t want to make another, so my recommendation is we go,” Eric replied, pointing down the slope in the direction of the village. A muffled shouting came from inside his jacket and Eric pulled out the mirror Jack had given him.

“That was intense and, for a moment I did not think we were gonna make it, bros,” the mirror gasped. “But if you ask me for the safest route home I can show it to you or keep an eye on those wolves to make sure they don’t double back.”

“That would be useful,” Kent said as he took a couple steps in Eric’s direction.

“I’m not here to help you, Kent Parson,” the mirror grouched, “You ruined the most perfect moment to ever exist for those two. I’m here to help Bitty.”

“Shitty, could you keep an eye on those wolves for us?” Bitty asked and Kent nodded in agreement. Injured as he was, there was no way Kent would remain in this forest any longer than necessary. He knew the quickest, safest way to get them home already.

It was why he whistled a second time, his eyes searching the vicinity. There was the sound of crunching snow and shaking undergrowth and Kent grinned when he heard a snort. He whistled once more and Kit reappeared. Even if his arm hurt, his shoulders fell as he let out a loud sigh of relief. 

“Good girl, Kit,” he soothed as she walked up to him, her coat dark with sweat and the signs of froth on her chest and around her tack. Her nostrils flared red and her sides heaved. Kent patted her neck and could feel the heat radiating off her.

“We’ll have to walk for sure,” he said as he looked to Eric after grabbing her reins, “She’s too exhausted to carry us like she was.”

Eric smiled at the both of them and shook his head. “That is one well-trained horse, Kent Parson,” he said, “And it’s probably best for all of us to stick together otherwise I’d tell you to ride ahead. She can’t carry both of us, but she might be able to carry you.”

“Nah, let’s go,” Kent disagreed, “The wolves probably won’t come back, but I’d rather keep us together.” He looked around once more before looping Kit’s reins around a branch and grabbing the wolf by the feet. “Let’s get out of here, then.”

“Why are you picking that wolf up?”

Kent glanced at Eric but threw the wolf’s head and forepaws over his shoulder, wincing at the screaming pain in his injured arm before throwing the deadweight over Kit’s saddle. A grown adult male might be too heavy, but a wolf, while exhausting, should still be manageable.

“No point in letting two good pelts go to waste,” Kent said through gritted teeth as he stilled his arm and took deep breaths until the pain dulled again. “Besides,” he grinned casually as he grabbed Kit’s reins and walked her to meet Eric on the trail, “Just imagine everyone’s faces when they find out you killed a man-eating wolf as your first game.”

Eric flushed and turned his head away, his steps sharp and fast as he walked ahead of Kent’s loping stride.

“You’re absurd.”

Kent grinned at the flustered words. “Just thinking of you,” he admitted, his eyes firm on Eric’s back despite the ease with which he dropped his words, “I do that a lot.”

Eric’s steps faltered as he looked over his shoulder to glare a warning. “Kent.”

“Not...not like that,” Kent immediately replied and winced, waving the hand loosely holding onto Kit’s reins as a lead. He walked up alongside Eric, nudging him into walking again as he continued, “I was wrong before. I wanted your attention because of who you were, not because of what everyone wanted either of us to be.”

Eric’s stare was still sharp. Kent could feel it pricking at the side of his face, but he kept his eyes on the trail in front of them. He took a shaky breath. He wasn’t brave enough to say this directly to Eric’s face. “You’re amazing as you are and I would never want to change that. I like you. A lot. More than I should and in ways that I shouldn’t.”

Eric stopped walking again and Kent followed his lead, daring a glance out the side of his vision. “All the same I—”

“—Kent…”

“You look like the sun,” Kent whispered as he turned to meet Eric’s shellshocked face, taking in the full of him in his golden outfit, without the blue to hide it, “even in the middle of the night.”

It was Eric’s turn to flush and look away, his fingers dancing together in front of him. “I didn’t know you were such a romantic.”

He began walking once more and Kent followed his lead.

“Me neither,” Kent agreed with a huffed laugh, his gaze switching between staring at his feet and studying what he could see of Eric’s face, but his attention never leaving Eric, “The girls in the village would definitely disagree, though.”

Eric’s wide eyes jerked to Kent’s face.

“Every one of them?”

Kent looked at his feet.

“They never caught my eye.”

They walked in silence for a bit after that. When Kent next looked up from his feet and over to Eric, Eric was walking with a slight bounce to his step and Kent could see him trying to bite down on a smile.

Kent’s heart hit his throat when the smile became too large and Eric’s teeth shined like the snow.

“It’s kinda nice,” Eric said, the smile full and warm on his voice. He glanced Kent’s way and Kent was caught in the laughter in his eyes as he said, “Knowing I’m the only one Kent Parson has to work for.”

Kent gaped at him before blustering through a few half-started sentences, his pace picking up as the heat of his face grew deeper.

“...Let’s get you home to your mother.”


	12. The Heir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The villagers ushered Kent and Bitty into the tavern, surrounding them with questions. Every time Bitty tried to duck out to check on his mother, he was pulled back in. Bitty had hated when Eric had been ignored or purposefully left out even if he’d doubled down and told his mother he didn’t care. Now he wished for it.
> 
> Instead, he was the center of the story as everyone awed over the wolf they had dragged in.

Bitty was not sure what to think or feel when he walked out of the forest and into sight of the village. It felt like it had been years since he had last seen these lights and buildings. So much had happened since he sprinted off on Bun’s back after his mother failed to return home, even if it had all happened in the span of a handful of days. Bitty felt like a different person. In some ways, Bitty knew he was a different person. He did not feel like he could shrink into the name of Eric anymore. Not in the tone of voice most of the villagers had always used for him. Certainly not in the disappointment Chevalier had always called it in.

He stepped closer to Kent as the first people caught sight of them and the shouts rang out.

“Pretty rich how they all act so excited to see us both when they fought so hard when I suggested a search,” Kent grumbled, but Bitty could see the relief in the lessening tension of his shoulders as people ran up to them and called for the doctor to be sent for.

The villagers ushered Kent and Bitty into the tavern, surrounding them with questions. Every time Bitty tried to duck out to check on his mother, he was pulled back in. Bitty had hated when Eric had been ignored or purposefully left out even if he’d doubled down and told his mother he didn’t care. Now he wished for it.

Instead, he was the center of the story as everyone awed over the wolf they had dragged in, grabbing one of the village boys to cool and wash down Kit.

“He was how far away?”

“You hit it with a pistol?”

“Killed it with _one shot?_ ” 

Bitty’s focus was on the doctor, however, as he peeled away the jacquard bandages, which had already bled through, to treat the wound below and decidedly not on the men who kept slapping him on the back and jolting him as he tried to drink the ale he’d been offered by the tavern owner who, for once in his life, was not griping about the kill being paraded around the room.

“So it was wolves, then?” the barkeep asked Bitty, “Such a good thing you and your mother survived.”

“Hopefully now you’re back, she’ll have time to rest her heart,” the baker added with a kind smile.

Bitty frowned at these people who had never cared much for him or his mother, at people Kent told him did not care if he’d made it back since they did not care to look.

“No.”

“No?” asked one of the farmer’s sons that Bitty had often seen following after Kent.

“It wasn’t wolves,” Bitty said loud enough for everyone to hear, “The wolves just caught us on the way back.”

The townspeople looked at each other in silence for a moment before the fishmonger laughed in surprise. “A bear, then?” he asked looking over at Kent, “Guess you were right, Kent! Must’ve been looking for a last minute meal!”

“It wasn’t a bear,” Bitty argued from his seat, hands fisted around his stein, “It wasn’t any normal wild animal. It was a beast.” The word felt sour and heavy on his tongue after getting to know Jack. While his appearance was animalistic and his behavior when they had first met was unkind to say the least, Jack was just as human—if not more so—than anyone in this village.

“Pretty sure all beasts are animals,” the cloth merchant laughed, looking around the room at the others who laughed with him.

“Well this one was a man,” Bitty said, tearing his shoulders away from the hands that kept patting them and standing up, “A man cursed to be a beast. The whole castle is under a curse.”

The door to the tavern opened and Bitty looked up to see Chevalier walk in. Someone must have informed him.

“You’re spouting out about the castle, too?”

“I know it’s creepy, with how so many people just went missing, but it’s been empty since.”

Bitty flinched at the villagers’ immediate anger as he continued to fight against the story they all wanted so much to be true.

“Jack didn’t go missing.”

Bitty blinked and looked at Kent, whose attention was still on his arm. He winced intermittently as the doctor slowly stitched the worst of it up, but held his arm still. It reminded Bitty of how much Jack had whined about the pain when Bitty had treated his wounds and he rolled his eyes and only barely held back the puff of laughter sitting in his throat.

Chevalier spoke up then, from the back of the room, his eyes flashing anger and his voice heavy with disappointment. “You of all people, Kent…”

“He was hiding,” Kent argued, meeting the man’s fiery glare with his own, “He’s the beast. I saw him. I talked with him.” Kent turned to the rest of the people, trying to draw their interest if not their belief. “He’s alive and there. All the servants are there.”

“What? Cursed to be cutlery?”

Bitty did not catch whoever said that, but he did keep a mental tally of who exactly laughed over it. “Well, some of them,” he admitted only to watch Chevalier’s scorn sharpen.

“You sound as crazy as your mother.”

“Maybe we’re not all crazy, then,” Kent replied, placing his lot firmly with Bitty and his mother. With how a lot of the people suddenly glared at him, Bitty figured it was against them now, too. He looked over at Troy, who had always been Kent’s right-hand man, and watched his eyes slide away as he remained silent and on the sideline, unwilling to defend.

“Look at what I’m wearing!” Bitty shouted loud enough to draw everyone’s attention as he glared first at Troy and then at his stepfather. He held out his arms to show off the gold silk. Even covered in blood and mud and scuffs and tears, the fabric gleamed. “Clearly this is not the clothing of someone who’s been lost in the woods for days.”

He reached out and fingered the torn remains of the blue coat around Kent’s shoulders. “This overcoat? It was Jack’s. He gave it to me because I was cold.” He tugged at the shoulders to show how it dwarfed even Kent. “Look how large it is! It wouldn’t fit on a normal sized human.”

“Yes, I have been meaning to ask you about that,” the village priest said with a suspicious once over.

Bitty narrowed his eyes at the man. “I hope you’re not suggesting I stole—”

Something jabbed him in the side and Bitty froze and turned to look only to find no one near him. Something jabbed him again and Bitty remembered what he had tucked in his jacket upon his and Kent’s arrival home.

“Shitty!” he crowed.

“What?”

Everyone in the tavern seemed confused about Bitty’s sudden outburst, but when Bitty looked at Kent, Kent nodded and Bitty grinned.

“I have proof!” he announced, reaching into his coat and pulling Shitty out, sending the face a grin before holding it out. “This is Shitty. He’s one of the cursed people.”

“That’s a mirror.”

“I know damn well that this is a mirror, but it’s a mirror that used to be a person and it’s a mirror that talks,” Bitty snapped.

“Whoa, all you peeps got fucking old,” Shitty crowed as Bitty held the mirror out for everyone to see, spinning it around the room, “And the tavern’s changed jack all. I see I’ve missed, like, nothing.”

“Shitty, you’re from here?” Bitty asked, pulling the mirror down to stare at Shitty’s silver moustache at the neck of the handle.

“Yeah, man,” Shitty replied, “Did I never mention? My last name’s Chevalier.”

“Bernard!” half the people at the table shouted.

Someone ripped the mirror from Bitty’s hands and began looking it over until someone else grabbed it from them.

“Whoa, it’s been a long time since I’ve heard that name,” Shitty laughed, taking little issue with being manhandled and studied, “But take it easy on the hardware, yeah? How are my parents doing, anyway?”

Bitty sat and stared in shock as Chevalier walked up and grabbed the mirror out of the blacksmith’s hands and glared down at it.

“My son would never speak in such a disrespectful and crass tone,” he said “Such a joke as to claim this instrument to be my son is just as ill-mannered.”

“I see you haven’t changed, pops,” Shitty muttered before twisting around and looking where he could, “Is Mom here?”

“She disappeared not long after you.”

Everyone turned to look at Kent, who had spoken. Shitty twisted completely on his handle.

“What?”

“After you went missing,” Kent explained, “When the searches were called off, she just, packed up some of her things and left…We never found her, either.”

Shitty turned back around to face his father. “Fuck you. Mom deserved so much better.”

“On the plus side,” Kent continued, “You and Eric are brothers.”

“Wait…” Shitty interjected, _“What?”_

“My mother married your father earlier this year,” Bitty cleared his throat to explain, “Apparently our fathers were cousins.”

“Brah! You are literally my bro! That is the best thing that could have come of this!” Shitty shouted, poking at his father’s hands until the man released him and he could hop over to Bitty, “Come here and give your big bro the biggest hug!”

Eric laughed but opened his arms and held Shitty close.

“I think it’s clear enough by now that these stories aren’t so crazy after all,” Kent said, pulling away from the doctor now that his arm was finally wrapped up and staring Chevalier down. “Which means Suzanne’s story is real, and you abandoned your wife to save your own skin.” He cocked his head and smirked. “Do you deny it?”

Chevalier grimaced as everyone turned to stare him down with Kent.

“Is it true? Did you turn tail and leave your wife to fend for herself?” Troy asked, pushing Kent’s point even harder.

Hard enough for Chevalier to fight back. “Yes,” he admitted, “Yes, I saw the beast.” Murmurs started amongst everyone else, but Chevalier’s voice rose above them as he continued, “But I had no proof. And the horses spooked and took off with me in the wagon when he grabbed Suzanne. By the time I had them under control, we were nearly home. I wasn’t sure of what I had even seen by that point because it was so fantastical—and who would think any of it was real even having seen it?—and told myself it had to be wrong.”

The murmurs calmed. Bitty saw a few of the men nod.

“Something like that couldn’t exist,” Chevalier continued and the murmurs rose again—this time in assent. “It was not natural.”

He turned to the mirror and Bitty and Kent, his eyes narrowed. “But now we know the truth! The beast is real! And dangerous!”

“No!” Bitty shouted, the dread that had been building in his gut at his stepfather’s admission overflowing at his claim.

“The stench of evil magic is all over this,” Chevalier continued and Eric’s heart and hope fell as everyone’s looks turned upon him, wary if not outright volatile. “Look what happened to my son!”

“That’s not true!” Bitty argued all the same, “Jack’s kind!”

“Kind enough to steal your mother and send her back ill and out of her mind with worry only when you took her place?” Chevalier pointed out.

“He was scared!” Bitty said, his entire body shaking, “Just like she was!”

“You fucker!” Shitty cursed, “Quit trying to twist the truth!”

“Jack’s never been one for strangers,” Kent pointed out, placing a comforting hand on Eric’s shoulders, contact to let him know he was not alone.

“And see?” Chevalier addressed the rest of the tavern, his hand sweeping over to Bitty and Kent, “This beast has influenced these two young men. Wooed them with...riches and their hearts’ desires. We must be rid of this creature before it does any more damage.”

“No!”

Kent’s hands clenched around Bitty’s shoulders, holding tight as Bitty felt his knees buckle at the cheer that rang out.

“I will lock them away with Suzanne and guard them tonight,” Chevalier continued with a smirk, “Eric’s presence should calm his mother and she may be able to break through the beast’s hold on these two. But we can’t trust any of them until the creature is gone.”

Another cheer rose until Troy purposefully cleared his throat unnecessarily loud. “Are you telling the village to kill some sort of dangerous monster, but refusing to participate?” he asked, eyes sharp and unforgiving, “At least when Kent took the villagers searching for your wife and son, he lead the way. How much of a coward can you be?”

“As I said,” Chevalier repeated with a troubled grin, “someone needs to make sure they don’t sneak away to warn him.”

“You’re the only one who’s been there recently,” Troy argued, “Leave someone else to guard; you lead the way.”

Bitty watched his stepfather bluster as calls rang out from the rest of the younger men of the village—the men who had always followed Kent and Troy.

“If you’re going to lead, do it right.”

“Why should we listen to you?”

“I’m not risking my life for you!”

“Fine!” Chevalier shouted, silencing them all with a sneer, “I’ll take these two to lock up and ready my horse and weapons. It appears the young men of the village are mere followers, unable to do anything on their own.”

Troy scoffed. “You send us to our fates, we’re just going to make sure we drag you down with us, old man.”

“But you don’t need to fight!” Bitty cried out, actual tears clogging his throat and blurring his vision as he went ignored. Kent pulled him in closer when Chevalier looked their way, hiding Bitty’s face and tears in his chest. He pulled Shitty out of Bitty’s hands and tucked him somewhere Bitty did not know.

“Follow me, boys,” Chevalier threatened and the tone in his voice alone was enough to send a shiver of fear down Bitty’s spine even if the sound of a cocked gun did not—it did, it definitely did. “Don’t bother trying to fight.” Bitty let Kent lead the way.


	13. The Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A gun sounded and the glass shattered. Jack held his arms up to protect his face, but felt the glance of more than one shard rake past his fur and into his flesh. He roared at it before dropping his arms and turning from the now-shattered window and to the middle-aged man who was scrabbling in an attempt to reload his weapon.
> 
> “You don’t want to fight?” the man asked as he leveled the musket at Jack once again, butt up against his chest to absorb the recoil, “That’s even better for me. If I don’t kill you, I won’t regain my standing in the village. You should’ve just killed the brat; I could’ve handled his mother.”

Jack sat in his room, watching the group carrying torches walk up to his front door. The gate had been open ever since Bitty had left with Kenny on the off-chance he changed his mind and returned, but, as the snake of torches and angry shouts drew near, Jack knew for a fact it would not happen.

He let the gates remain open so the group did not try to burn or damage his mother’s roses.

“Jack, if we don’t do something soon, they’re going to attack.”

Jack sighed and looked over his shoulder to Lardo, half-surprised she was talking to him right now, even under such dire circumstances.

“Let them come,” he told her as his attention slipped back out the window, “you guys hide. It’s me they’re after.”

Jack was met with silence and he shifted, looking to the doorway Lardo had been standing in because he had not heard her leave, but she must have if she was not responding to him.

She was still there, though, and glaring at him. “You know what, Jack?” she asked, “Fuck you. This is our home, too, and we’re defending it. Even if we’re stuck here as teapots and candlesticks. You can sit here and mope or you can join us, but you’re the one who let Bitty go.”

“Of course I let him go!” Jack roared, walking up to Lardo, “Was I supposed to keep him here forever? When his mother’s life was in danger?”

“Wasn’t that your original plan?”

Jack huffed at Lardo’s deadpan response and turned away, arms crossed in annoyance.

“How else was I going to make him stay?” he spat bitterly as his gaze shifted to the rose, now holding one final petal. Jack quaked, knowing it would fall any time now and they would all forever be cursed to remain in these forms. Jack did not even know how long forever was. Would they die? Or had his unwillingness to allow a woman a night’s rest in the castle cursed everyone in it eternally? These past ten years had already been far too long. Jack had failed everyone again. Maybe tonight would be the last time.

Lardo sighed.

“You don’t have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, you know,” she griped, “You can share the burden with the rest of us...or at least let us carry our own burdens. Falling in love and having someone fall in love with you shouldn’t be about beating the curse or saving us. It’s a natural thing. You just kinda stare at their stupid face one day and realize you want to keep it around forever or something.”

“I’m sorry for separating you and Shitty.”

Lardo twisted back and forth. It had been the closest she could get to shaking her head since she’d turned into a teapot. “I know you did it to protect Bits,” she said, “but that wasn’t just your decision to make. And I know Shitty would love to protect Bitty—especially when you can’t—but did you even let him make that decision?”

Jack swallowed his guilt and forced himself to speak. “No.”

A loud thud sounded through the castle as Ransom came running down the hall. “Lardo! They’ve got a battering ram!” Holster shouted from the foyer, “Is Jack coming?”

“I have to go,” Lardo said, the flinty anger from earlier back in her voice, “Fight or hide or roll over and die, it’s your choice. But I’m gonna be here waiting when Bitty comes back with Shitty.”

Jack watched her hop away with Ransom in tow. Part of him felt the tug to go with, but, as the two turned the corner, he slammed the door shut behind them and returned to his window. The mob was out of sight for him now, but he could hear each jarring smash of the battering ram against his doors. He heard the splinter when they broke through and he heard shouts and smashing porcelain as the fight began.

Hopefully everyone made it through. Jack did not want to find out what happened if someone broke.

It was amazing how loud and long the fight became. Jack was pretty certain that, at one point, he even heard Foxtrot’s voice cutting above it all and she was still trapped in that room in the east wing.

Eventually, however, the fight made it to him, as he knew it would.

The door slammed open and Jack turned to see some middle-aged human man standing in the door, fuming.

“Beast!” he shouted and Jack turned back to the window in disinterest.

A gun sounded and the glass shattered. Jack held his arms up to protect his face, but felt the glance of more than one shard rake past his fur and into his flesh. He roared at it before dropping his arms and turning from the now-shattered window and to the middle-aged man who was scrabbling in an attempt to reload his weapon.

“You don’t want to fight?” the man asked as he leveled the musket at Jack once again, butt up against his chest to absorb the recoil, “That’s even better for me. If I don’t kill you, I won’t regain my standing in the village. You should’ve just killed the brat; I could’ve handled his mother.”

He pulled the trigger and Jack threw himself to the side, not even waiting for the cloud of dust and debris to settle where the ball had met stone wall before launching himself at the man and tearing the unloaded musket from his quaking hands.

“He was your stepson,” Jack growled as he realized who this man must be. He threw the weapon out of the window.

“And if I’d known what sort of temperament he had before the marriage, I would have likely never gone through with it,” the man huffed in annoyance. He shrugged and pulled out a pistol. “All I can do now is push him into a marriage fast enough to get a grandchild to raise correctly. He’s worthless aside from his blood connection.”

Jack growled, warily eyeing the new weapon as the man loaded it with practised ease in mere seconds.

“Oh, did you fall for him?” the man asked with a vitriolic smirk. It shifted quickly into a grimace of disgust. “Of course you did. A demonic beast lusting after my son? We can’t have that.” He raised the pistol at Jack and fired before adding, “He agreed.”

Jack roared in agony at the white hot pain of the bullet tearing through his arm. It was nearly enough to keep him from hearing with Bitty’s stepfather had said and Jack wished with everything not wholly focused on the pain, that it had. Bitty had run away and truly did plan to never come back. He had hated being here so much, hated Jack’s attention, that he now wanted Jack dead.

He was a hideous beast. He was cursed.

Jack glanced at the rose, still holding its final petal and shuddered. A cursed beast. Yes, that was him. How dare he force Bitty to remain by his side and then expect to gain his love. Especially with how Jack had treated him that first night.

A heavy body shoved into Jack and knocked him off balance and out of the broken window. He landed on shards of glass, reaching and grabbing for the man who had shoved him out of instinct and tearing him out onto the roof, as well.

Before he could stand, however, the hammer of the man’s pistol cocked near his head and Jack looked up to see it held inches from his forehead.

“If you really were the prince,” the man asked with a manic grin, “I wonder what sort of bounty your carcass will fetch me from your parents? It’s a good thing they never had to see what a failure you became.”

“Jack!” a familiar voice screamed in terror right as the gun sounded.


	14. The Protector

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What are you thinking?” Eric asked once he stood next to him.
> 
> Kent sighed and rubbed at his forehead with his fist. “Thinking this wall is the easiest to get through, but it’s still not going to be easy, exactly.” Kent crouched down and pushed at the board to find it had some give. A nail near the bottom must have fallen out or rusted and broken. Either way, one loose nail likely meant more. Kent stood up and gave a firm enough kick to the board to knock it out of alignment.

Kent did not release his hold on Eric until the door was padlocked behind them. The last thing he wanted Eric seeing was the man who was supposed to be his father holding a cocked pistol in his direction. With the way Eric shook in his arms, Kent had a pretty good feeling he knew about it, all the same. Kent swallowed the sour taste in his mouth and loosened his arms enough for Eric to pull away if he wanted.

“...Dicky?”

Eric bolted. One second, his eyes flew open and to his mother, and within the next he was holding her in his arms, sobbing.

“Oh, Dicky, my sweet Dicky!” Suzanne cried, wrapping her arms around him just as tight.

“Momma!”

It was clearly a private and personal moment for both of them and Kent turned his attention to the room. It had been set up with a bed and provisions, but it was not meant to be a permanent or even hospitable dwelling. Kent expected little else from a storage room in a stable. It was likely the room Chevalier had chosen to use because its one window was too small and high for escape.

Kent jiggled the handle and tested the weight of the door. It was not a promising solution, but with time they did not have and at the cost of a leg, Kent could probably get them out. His attention switched to the walls, themselves. While the exterior walls were stone and wood and insulated to keep animals and tack above freezing temperatures, the interior walls were more a formality, a marking of boundary between storage and animal dwelling space. If he could find a loose board, or even a loose nail, he could get them out in no time.

“Kent, thank you so much for bringing my baby boy back to me!” Kent blinked at his name and turned back to the other two to find Suzanne waving him into the hug she was already sharing with her son.

“I was worried and did something about it,” he said in full attempt to wave it off, “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you when you first told me.”

Suzanne frowned and waved him over again. “You get over here and give me a hug, Kent Parson. You brought my son back when I thought I’d never see him again! I could only picture him trapped in a cell with that horrible beast leaving him to starve or freeze—”

Kent had given in and made it halfway to Suzanne’s arms when Eric’s spine went rigid at her words.

“He’s not all bad, momma.”

“Not all bad?” Suzanne asked, her arms dropping from where she had held them out to hug Kent as she turned to her son. “Dicky, did you bump your head somewhere?”

Eric bats her hands away. “No, momma, I did not bump anything anywhere. Jack may be a bit rough around the edges, but once we got past that, we got along great.”

“Jack?” Suzanne asked, her hands fluttering, “Are you saying that—that beast? has a name?”

“Of course he has a name,” Eric shot back, “He’s a person like you or me but he’s been caught under a curse that makes him look like that.”

“I don’t care what he looks like,” Suzanne said with a firm shake of her head, “He could be the most handsome looking man in the world, but if he takes a son away from his mother for the rest of their lives, he’s a beast,” Suzanne said.

She drew up beside Eric and rested her head on his shoulder. Her arms wrapped around him. “He threw me in a cell for picking a flower from an overgrown wall. You really gonna condone that sort of treatment?”

Some muffled words sounded from Kent’s beltline and he jumped before pulling Bernard out.

“Okay, but, like, technically, those roses were the Duchess’s roses and back in the day taking them without her permission could be punished by losing a hand,” Shitty pointed out once he was capable of being heard, “Also, taking something not offered by a host is pretty shitty behavior and I don’t mean any correlation to me.”

Suzanne gasped and backed away from the talking mirror, staring at it in horror.

“Momma!” Eric complained, rolling his eyes, “It’s just Shitty.”

“Excuse me!”

“Bernard?” Kent offered, “Byron’s first son. He was caught in the same curse as everyone else up at the castle. The teacup you met was Chris Chow, by the way. He was a footman. Bernard was studying business under the seneschal up there, assisting in the running of the lands and accounts.”

“Byron’s son?” Suzanne asked, eyeing the mirror warily.

“I try not to advertise it,” Bernard said.

“You said everyone was cursed?” she then asked.

“Pretty much. I don’t have an attendance sheet, but near all staff that were present at the time the curse was laid have been turned into talking furniture or home goods,” Bernard answered, “Their lord and ladyship, Alicia and Bob, were out, thankfully, because I don’t think talking thrones are the best options for ruling a duchy, but Jack was hit with the worst of it and ended up looking like he belongs trapped in a Labyrinth.”

“Momma, I know it’s probably hard because it’s only been a few days and you haven’t seen much of him other than when he threw you in the cell and sent you home,” Eric pleaded, his hands held up in prayer, “but you have to believe me. I mean, yes, I’m still angry that I found you locked away like that, but Jack did let you go when he didn’t have to.” Eric glanced at Bernard with a concerned grimace. “He didn’t cut off your hand, either...since that’s apparently a thing.”

“Eh…” Bernard shrugged.

Kent thought back on his memories and shook his head. “I can’t see the Alicia I knew growing up, having anyone’s hand cut off. Especially for picking a rose.”

“I think it was more to scare people off them,” Bernard admitted, “Bob really liked the roses.”

Kent nodded. “He did seem more invested in them than Alicia.”

“He treated me nice when I stayed,” Eric spoke over Kent and Bernard’s conversation, “I got my own room. He saved my life when I was out in the forest and wolves attacked. I made friends with everyone and, it took some time, but I made friends with Jack, too.” Eric laughed and shook his head. “He even tried to give me his kitchen.”

Eric reached out and rested a hand on his mother’s arm as he continued to explain, “He just...doesn’t do well with strangers.” He shrugged. “Can you blame him?” he asked his mother, “Everyone he’s met runs screaming.”

Suzanne huffed but drew back up alongside her son. “I don’t quite get it, but if he saved your life and was that nice to you, and if what I did really was so horrible—even if a few blooms would not have been missed and the Duchess isn’t around anymore…” she said, speaking each clause as if it was cut from her fighting, “then I guess I can give him a second chance.”

Kent and Eric shared a look when Suzanne clapped her hands, clearly done with this portion of the conversation.

“Now! Who wants to tell me why the both of you are locked in here with me, instead of all of us being free to go about our business?”

Eric blanched and Kent stepped forward. “I ca-”

“Let me regale you with the tale, mother! You don’t mind if I call you ma, do you? Since mine’s apparently gone missing,” Bernard interrupted, “It’s one of brave heroics and romance even! Some comedy provided by yours truly.”

“Oh…?”

“In the meanwhile,” Bernard added as Kent handed him over to Suzanne, “Those two can try to get us all out of here.”

“Well, I guess that makes sense. Now, let me get this right. Your name is Bernard, but you go by what again?”

Kent left Suzanne and Shitty to their chattering as he turned back to the wall.

“What are you thinking?” Eric asked once he stood next to him.

Kent sighed and rubbed at his forehead with his fist. “Thinking this wall is the easiest to get through, but it’s still not going to be easy, exactly.”

Eric nodded then started kicking at the boards, testing each one a few inches above where it met the dirt floor.

“We could maybe dig if we broke that chair,” Kent continued, kicking at the dirt, “Use the legs to break through the compacted parts.”

“I think you’re right about the wall being the easiest, though,” Eric agreed as he toed at one board in particular. “This one might be loose enough to start with.”

Kent crouched down and pushed at the board to find it had some give. A nail near the bottom must have fallen out or rusted and broken. Either way, one loose nail likely meant more. Kent stood up and gave a firm enough kick to the board to knock it out of alignment.

Bernard’s loud voice paused for a moment, but picked back up when Kent grinned at Eric. “I think you’re right,” he agreed, “How’d you find one so fast?”

Eric shrugged, his gaze on his feet. “Let’s just say this isn’t the first time I’ve been locked in a storage shed.”

Kent balked.

“Not here?” he asked.

Eric shook his head first, but then hummed and shrugged. “Once?” he said, as if he wasn’t sure and Kent was terrified as he considered how many times Eric had been locked in a closet for that to be the case. “But I think that one was more on accident,” he jumped to explain, “The apprentice vintner apologized a lot.” Eric bit his lip before leaning closer to admit in a whisper: “I was hiding from you.”

Kent snorted and crouched back down, rocking back on his heels as he tugged the board back inside, scraping his fingers against the ground and cursing beneath his breath because of it. “Just promise me you’ll tell me to beat it in the future,” he asked, his middle-finger in his mouth, “I swear I’ll listen.”

“If I need to, I’ll try,” Eric answered, his eyebrows raised in concern and smirk tilted with the weight of amusement, “But I think there was just a lot of misunderstanding between us.” He knelt down and swept the loose nails out of the way.

Kent nodded as he wiped his fingers on his trousers and reached back out to grab onto the board. He grunted, pulling at the piece until a few more nails tore out, “There’s just a lot of impatience now.”

Eric picked the nails out of the wood plank and set those aside, as well. “Impatience?” he asked before seeing the blood on Kent’s bandaged arm. “Oh, Lord, I completely forgot! Kent Parson, you sit back and rest. You do not need to be injuring yourself further!”

Kent tore his arm away when Eric tried to hold it back. “I’m still stronger than you,” he argued, “If you want to save Jack, we don’t have time to worry about who is and isn’t injured.”

Eric glared at him and, for a moment, Kent thought he’d fight him on this, but, instead, he sighed, stepped back and asked, “What impatience?”

Kent figured it was probably the closest he would get to approval in this case, so took the change in topic when it was offered, as awkward a topic as it may be. “Guess it’s more just me,” he admitted, “but...Your response.” Kent pried a few nails out before working the neighboring plank back and forth to loosen the next few, wobbling it around its own plane. “You remember I told you I loved you, right?”

Eric did not verbally respond, but Suzanne and Bernard did, each releasing an audible gasp.

“Not allowed!” Shitty argued, “Foul! Bitty’s Jack’s!”

“I belong to myself, thank you very much,” Eric snapped. Kent spared him a long enough glance to see him rubbing at his forehead, his shoulders hunched.

The wood cracked and Kent winced.

“Eric?” he asked.

“Yeah…” Eric finally answered him, his eyes shut as he rubbed at his nape, “that.”

Kent turned his attention back to the board, not quite able to keep a smile on anymore. “Yeah,” he parroted back.

“I think I can squeeze through if you hold the planks up for me.”

Eric slipped into Kent’s line of sight and began fitting his arm through the space, measuring how high up the nails had come loose and how wide the two loose planks would allow for.

Kent did some mental calculations, as well, sizing Eric up before giving a huff and a nod. He grabbed both planks, one with each hand, and pulled them as far up as they would bend. Eric dropped down to his hands and knees and began crawling through, turning sideways to fit his shoulders into the small space the loose boards allowed.

Kent’s injured arm ached and he flinched, losing his grip on the board, but, before he could drop it and send it slapping back into Eric, Suzanne was at his side, holding it up with both hands and puffed cheeks.

Eric’s feet disappeared and he gave a triumphant shout and a knock on the wall.

Kent and Suzanne let the planks fall back into place and flinched at the bang of their recoil. Despite the abuse, they appeared only slightly bent and cracked. Kent remembered Chevalier talking about having his stable redone last year and was grateful for the new wood’s flexibility.

“There’s no key, but there are some tools!” Eric called back from the other side, “Gimme a sec!”

Kent took a deep breath and turned his attention to the bandages on his arm.

“That does not look pretty,” Suzanne said with concern.

“Wolf bite,” Kent admitted, “Not very pretty at all. Eric saved me, though. Killed it in one shot as it was trying to make a meal of me.”

Suzanne smirked at him and Kent knew how bad he had to sound after admitting in front of her that he loved her son. She did not seem to mind, at least, so Kent took that as a victory in itself.

“I don’t trust this mirror near so much as I trust you.”

“Hey! I’m trustworthy as fuck!” Bernard shouted. Suzanne gave him a glance before passing him back over to Kent.

“And Dicky’s a good boy, but I’m concerned he might be tricked,” Suzanne said, just as quick to offer a necessary change of topic as her son.

“I grew up playing with Jack,” Kent replied, already understanding where her line of questioning was heading, “It’s definitely him. It’s been ten years, but I can’t imagine him doing anything to purposefully harm anyone.”

The sound of sawing picked up from the door and Kent and Suzanne both looked over to see the glint of metal peeking through the door’s seam in concert with the sound. Eric was sawing through the crossbar.

“But you’re saying he could on accident?” Suzanne asked, her lips pinched and typically warm eyes flinty.

“Everyone can hurt someone without meaning to. I’ve done it to Eric,” Kent pointed out with a sigh. His shoulders fell. “But, from what I saw of their interactions, Jack would probably try pretty hard not to.”

The fiddling and soft cursing from the other side of the wall came to an end as the door swung open. Bitty peeked in with the saw and a grin. “Everyone all good? I’ve got somewhere to go.” He did not even wait for an answer before rushing off.

“You go with him, Kent Parson.”

“But—” Kent blinked at Suzanne, making an abortive step towards the door before turning back to her.

“I’ll be just fine here at home,” Suzanne waved him off despite her disgruntled pucker, “After the last few days, I’m less a stranger to worrying about my son, but I trust you to make sure he comes home safe.”

“Are you sure?”

Suzanne smiled and patted his shoulder. “You love him far too much. I know I can trust you for that much.”

Kent flushed and coughed into his fist. “I’ll keep him safe as best I can,” he promised, unable to look her in the eyes, “but I don’t know if I’ll be able to bring him back if he chooses to stay at the castle.”

“I trust you to at least try. You’re a good man, Kent,” Suzanne said as she nudged him out the door and into the stable’s aisle. Eric was finishing tacking up Bun, his golden clothes covered almost completely now in blood and mud and dirt. He looked a mess, honestly, and Kent could only shake his head in disbelief. He’d always known Eric was strong. He hadn’t realized just how strong until today. Suzanne leaned in close and whispered, “If it makes any difference, I’m rooting for you.”

Kent covered his face with his hand, feeling it instantly heat at her words.

“Thanks, Suzanne.”

She patted his back and disappeared from his side and, by the time Kent’s face no longer felt like he had stuck it in a campfire, he found her giving her son a tearful hug goodbye.

Kent joined them only after they had let go and Eric seated himself in the saddle.

“Can Bun fit one more?”

Eric gave him a once over. “He can, but he won’t.”

“You don’t know what kind of fight you’re going to face when you get there,” Kent pointed out. “If you won’t take a weapon, at least take me.”

Eric scowled. “You’re injured.”

Kent buckled down. “I’ll live.”

“You promised you wouldn’t fight wolves.”

“And you said no more weapons.”

Kent stood in the middle of the stable, keeping Eric from riding off without him and faced his stare, knowing Eric was prepared to fight.

“I promise I’ll only fight people and only if it’s required,” Kent jokingly offered as a compromise, “If the wolves come back, you can leave me as a snack. I won’t even fight.”

Eric’s cheeks went red in anger, but Bernard cut off any reprimand he might have been about to spit in reply. “No worries, brahs! I got my eye on those dudes still and they’re gone-zo. No wolves to worry about. Promise.”

“Thank you, Shitty,” Eric specified before turning his attention back to Kent and stating, “But I’m still not taking you with me.”

Kent bit at his lip and punched at his thigh. “If Jack’s who you choose, then...he’s not human so I don’t really get it...but it’s Jack, so, in a way, I do,” he said, “But...just because you didn’t choose me doesn’t mean I want to see you any less safe.” He grinned. “I’m used to your rejection by now.”

Eric sat tall as if he had been struck and Bun shuffled at his rider’s surprise. “This isn’t about Jack or choosing anyone or rejecting anyone,” Eric argued.

Kent walked up to Bun and grabbed hold of his halter. “Please, Eric. Let me protect you.”

Eric pulled Bun out of Kent’s hold. “I don’t need protection.”

“The last time you ran into that forest on your own, I wasn’t sure you’d come back,” Kent pleaded, placing a hand on Eric’s leg, instead, fingers twisting in the brocade.

“Fine!” Eric cried, finally giving in, “We don’t have time for this! Hop up and hold tight. Bun’s faster than Kit.”

Kent snorted. “No he’s not.” He grabbed hold of Eric’s hand, shoved his foot in the stirrup and threw himself on the back of the saddle, wincing in discomfort, but wrapping his arms around Eric’s waist.

“Hon, where do you think I disappear to so fast all the time?” Eric asked. “Hold tight and prepare to be proven very wrong.”

When Bun broke out into a gallop, Kent tightened his hold, pressing his body up against Eric’s back and praying he did not go flying off the back end of the saddle. He hated that he was thinking about this at such a time, but, fuck, Bun really was faster than Kit.

Bun kicked up dirt as they bid farewell to the village lights once more. “Shitty!” Eric shouted back at them, “Show Kent the fastest route to the castle!”

“On it!” the mirror replied. Kent held the mirror up to find his reflection wavering until it was replaced by the forest before them, showing Kent when and where to turn right before they needed to. He shouted each direction directly into Eric’s ear.

It seemed almost no time at all, especially in comparison to their fight for survival and exhausted, injured walk home, before they were running up the castle’s drive, working past fleeing villagers and fighting grounds tools. Bun stopped dead, however, when Eric pulled back and Kent followed his line of sight up to the roof to see Chevalier with his pistol pointed directly at Jack’s head.

“Jack!” Eric screamed in agonizing terror. The gun sounded and Kent’s blood ran cold.


	15. The Devoted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one saw Chevalier pick up or load his musket—the one Jack had earlier thrown out the window and out of reach—but they all heard the shot ring out and Bitty and Kent looked up, faces pale, as Jack roared in pain.

Bitty snapped the reins, his eyes on the open front door, his breath frozen in his chest. The gunshot echoed in his mind and ears.

Bun sprinted up the stairs and into the foyer before coming to a halt in the middle of a fray as three books flew past their faces and the village schoolteacher laughed and chased after them with a torch.

“Kent!”

“Troy!” Kent called out and dismounted. He took the reins from Bitty as Troy ran up to them.

“You got out?”

“Of course,” Kent scoffed. Bitty dismounted with Bun held still, stumbling but catching himself on Kent’s shoulder. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”

“Eric got you out, didn’t he?” Troy asked.

“Eric got me out, yup.” Kent nodded and handed the reins over to Troy, “But now we need to go.”

Having rediscovered his feet, Bitty took off through the fray, dodging a secretary desk Eric had once been introduced to as Alice spitting ink and flinging paper at a group of farmers while the priest chased after March with his torch. Broken wood and china littered the floor and it was too much for Bitty to consider whether it belonged to someone he knew. Making sure Jack was okay was the only thing he could handle right now. Even that he was handling poorly.

Troy shouted after him—or he shouted after Kent, truly, as Kent was the one who had handed him the horse before taking off.

“We’ll be back! Just keep Bun safe!” Kent shouted in reply but rushed alongside Bitty, putting himself between Bitty and the fights.

Bitty rushed up the stairs he had walked down with Jack only a few hours ago, both fresh in their outfits and with only good thoughts for the night. Bitty swallowed past the lump in his throat and turned up the stairs to Jack’s wing, not even stopping at the top as he swung open the door and dashed down the hallway and past door after door. He blinked past the tears.

Jack had to be alive.

He had to.

At the end of the hall, one of the double doors to Jack’s suite hung open and Bitty stopped in the doorway to look at the room. The destruction was no less than before, but at least the rose Jack seemed to care about so much was still standing, even if only one petal remained attached. One of the windows, however, was shattered, with jagged glass poking out from the edges.

Bright red blood dripped down a shard and Bitty ran up to it, knowing there was no way to be completely sure whom it belonged to but fearing the worst after seeing Jack kneeling on the roof with a gun’s muzzle in his face.

“Jack!” Bitty shouted, one foot and both hands on the window sill when Kent grabbed him from behind and pulled him back.

“Stop it! I have to go!”

“And what?” Kent fought back, his forearms strict bars across Bitty’s torso despite his punches and kicks and wriggles. “You don’t have a weapon and your stepfather has a gun!”

“He’s no family of mine!”

“He still has a gun and the roof is covered in snow and ice and broken glass! You’re only going to get hurt!”

“Someone has to go!”

“Then let me!”

“You’re injured!”

A crash sounded out the window. Bitty and Kent both froze then turned to the window. Their attention was immediately drawn to the image of Jack bashing away a piece of one of the gargoyles lining the roof from Chevalier’s hand. Jack gave a menacing roar directly into his face and he cowered.

Bitty, Kent and Shitty cheered, both at the sight of Jack, alive and fighting, and at Chevalier being cowed.

“Bitty,” Jack gawped in surprise.

“Jack!” Bitty responded, leaning as far out the window as Kent’s hold on him would allow and waving in excitement, “You’re alright!”

“You came back!” Jack cried out in turn, his blue eyes bright in his otherwise dark face and wide in disbelief.

Bitty frowned at that. “Of course I did, you silly goose!” he replied, shaking his finger at him, “I told you I would!”

The quick interlude lasted just long enough for Chevalier to pull himself together and make one last ditch effort for Jack. He unsheathed his belt knife and lunged with the blade.

“Jack!” Kent warned, shoving past Bitty and reaching out the window to point. He cut his hand on some of the glass and hissed, but left it as he watched Jack disarm the man and grab hold of his throat, squeezing tight enough to draw the man’s scrabbling fingers up to grapple against Jack’s furry paw for the right to breathe.

“If you want to live, promise me! Never return here again. You will leave here immediately. Take everyone you brought with you. Do not come after me or Eric ever again!”

While he could neither breathe nor speak, Chevalier found strength in him enough to nod his head in understanding. Bitty watched with suspicious glee from behind Kent.

Jack released his hold with a final glare before turning back to Bitty and Kent. He smiled, the little half-smile that made one of his fangs pop out the side of his mouth, and Bitty smiled back, Pushing Kent aside and tearing off one of his boots to punch out the rest of the glass still sticking to its frame.

Kent worked on pulling the shards of glass out of his hand.

No one saw Chevalier pick up or load his musket—the one Jack had earlier thrown out the window and out of reach—but they all heard the shot ring out and Bitty and Kent looked up, faces pale, as Jack roared in pain.

Even as Jack’s roar faded and he took a stumbling step towards the window, drops of blood falling and staining the frozen roof pink, they could hear shouting. Bitty reached through the window to help Jack back inside when a thud and scream sounded. Behind Jack, just within sight, Chevalier slid down the roof and off its edge. Bitty watched the empty space in morbid fascination until the screams came to a sudden halt.

“Jack!”

Kent’s voice pulled Eric back to the present enough for him to move out of the way as Jack fell through the window and into Kent’s arms.

“Fuck!” Kent cursed under the weight, but held Jack up long enough to get him past any glass before slowly laying him onto the floor.

Bitty gave a strangled sob at the way Jack’s chest moved in uneven heaves. His hands shook as he fell onto his knees at Jack’s side, reaching out to run his fingers along Jack’s brow, brushing through his thick fur. Bitty had only now realized how soft it was.

“You...came back,” Jack whispered through a gasp and a wince.

Bitty felt the pressure behind his eyes and in his nose build to a burn. “You said that already,” he reminded Jack as he grabbed hold of his large hand and held it between his two. He blinked to clear his eyes and the first tears rolled down his cheeks.

Jack’s hand rose to wipe it away with a span and strength enough to crush a grown man’s throat but with a touch as gentle as the brush of a butterfly’s wings.

“Sorry.”

Jack’s hand shook with the effort and Bitty reached up to hold it there, closing his eyes leaning his face into the touch. “No apologizing from you, mister,” he scolded and sniffled, “We need to get your wound treated.” Bitty grinned and opened his eyes, putting every ounce of assurance he could muster in his voice when he added, “Luckily I think I saw the village doctor wrapped up in twine and being dragged by a rake and batted at by a broom across your yard.”

“Ha-!” Jack laughed before breaking into a cough and a groan. “Tango and Whiskey,” he explained, “Kinda surprised. Whiskey always seemed more the type to wait it out.”

Bitty could feel his face blanch at Jack’s pain and his lips tightened into a thin line. He pulled their hands back down into his lap so there was less strain on Jack’s arm, but his hands still wrapped around Jack’s fingers, firm in their decision not to let go. “That settles it. We’ll call for the doctor. Someone’s bound to hear us and Tango or Whiskey or whoever can drag him up each step whether he wants to come or not—”

“I’ll go get him.”

Bitty jumped as he looked up at Kent, who knelt on Jack’s other side, having forgotten he was there. Discomfort squirmed in his stomach at the realization and his throat closed up at the raw fear in Kent’s own face. Bitty tried to speak, but his tongue was paralyzed.

“Kenny,” Jack rasped, instead, “don’t go.”

Kent flinched and swallowed but drew away, preparing to stand. “Jack,” he said with a wet voice, “someone’s gotta go find the doctor for you.” Bitty closed his eyes as the sound started his tears in full force, but not before he saw how wet Kent’s cheeks were, too. “You’re bleeding out.”

Another strangled sound escaped Bitty’s mouth even if words could not.

“Am I?” Jack asked, his brow furrowed as he seemed to take mental stock of himself. He sighed, long and loud, an exhalation Bitty feared would never end and yet feared the end of. “No wonder everything’s going fuzzy.” Jack’s voice sounded too far away for Bitty to be holding onto his hand in his lap. He held on all the tighter.

“Yeah, you are,” Kent said. His voice was like a spinning top that had caught a crack in the floor. It stumbled and stuttered and lost its tight control, overcompensating in its spin before finally tipping onto its side as his sobs became audible. “And I can’t lose you!” he swore through the tears, “I just found you again.”

Bitty shook his head, refusing to think of losing Jack. “I just found you the first time,” he pointed out, his eyes still pinched shut. If he couldn’t see it, it wasn’t happening. Jack just needed to keep his warm hand holding onto Bitty’s and everything would be alright.

“The rose?”

Bitty opened his eyes in surprise at Jack’s question. He bit his lip at how distant Jack’s eyes were as he looked up at him.

“Bitty,” Jack asked again, shaking his hand the smallest amount, “how’s the rose?”

Bitty knew the rose was important to Jack. It had been what Jack had been trying to protect that first night he had chased Bitty off into the wilds and wolves before saving his life. Bitty had figured it had something to do with the curse, but never actually received confirmation, let alone explanation as to how. There was still so much about Jack he did not know. But he wanted to. He wanted to know everything.

Bitty wiped his eyes off on the shoulder of his coat and blinked through blurry vision and clumped eyelashes to watch the last petal drop.

“I’m sorry, Jack,” he said, eyes turning back to Jack rather than watch its descent, “The last petal just fell off.”

“Is this what all time means?” Jack asked with a wet laugh, his grasp tightening around Bitty’s hand and his breaths grew short, “A beast in people’s memory?”

Bitty gripped back with all his strength as fear began to tighten its hold on his throat. “Jack, you’re not—!”

“I love you.”

Bitty’s breath caught in his throat. Jack was smiling at him with that faraway look in his eye and his labored gasps and cold hands—they weren’t supposed to be cold, when did they get cold?—and Bitty couldn’t breathe.

“Bitty, I love you,” he said again as his hand fell loose in Bitty’s grasp and his eyes slid shut, “I’m sorry.”

Bitty sat there, frozen, eyes wide and staring at Jack’s unmoving form, his chest just barely rising and falling with his last breaths. Bitty’s hands shook and squeezed at Jack’s and he worked his jaw until he finally found himself capable of opening his mouth.

“No.” It fell, broken and hoarse, from his lips.

“Eric…” Kent warned.

Bitty spared him a glance, but no more than that. “No!” he confirmed again, dropping Jack’s hand and leaning over him, a hand on the floor on each side of his head. Tears plopped onto Jack’s fur, beading and running off the side of his face. “You can’t just say that and die!” Bitty demanded, his hands clenching into fists and pounding against the rug they Kent had laid Jack out on, “You have to let me say it back!”

Jack didn’t move. He didn’t respond at all and Bitty grit his teeth and glared through the tears that continued to fall from his eyes and roll down Jack’s face. He swallowed his sobs and leaned down. “I love you,” Bitty whispered, lips brushing against Jack’s forehead.

He closed his eyes and mourned.

The last petal, which had stuck momentarily, finally broke fully free of the stem and fell to the tabletop, shattering into specks of golden light. The other petals, long-since fallen but still bright red and fresh, glowed and disintegrated, as well. Motes of light filled the glass case the rose had been protected in until it burst off, streams of glowing gold flowing around the room.

Kent pulled Bitty from where he lay covering Jack’s body as the light dove for it. Bitty fought the hold, not wanting to be separated from Jack yet, until Kent forced him to open his eyes and see the light cocooning Jack, pulling him up into the air.

Warmth suffused the room despite the draft flowing between the open door and broken window and Bitty fell into Kent’s hold as beams of light began to pierce the golden parcel. He should feel scared. He should feel confused. Bitty only felt anticipation and happiness even as the light blinded him completely.

Bitty ducked his eyes behind his arm until the brightness faded back to the dark of night it had been moments before. Jack was, once again, lying unmoving on the floor. He looked small and frail and Bitty tried to break from Kent’s arms only to find he still could not.

“Eric…” Kent’s voice was rough and whispered, sharp with surprise.

“What is it this time?” Bitty snapped, still pushing at Kent’s arms.

“His feet,” Kent whispered in awe and Bitty huffed but looked down at Jack’s feet.

They were feet.

As in actual human feet.

They were no longer covered in black fur, they no longer sported claws the length of Bitty’s fingers. They were just pink flesh with ten human toes between them.

Bitty stopped scrabbling at Kent’s arm at that realization.

He stopped breathing when the bundle moved.

An elbow pushed up, excess fabric hanging off of arms now far too small in comparison and Bitty sucked in a breath.

“Jack?” Bitty’s voice tremored, tears already starting up once again. It might not have even reached who it was meant for.

The bundle groaned and pushed itself up on hands and knees and Bitty saw human fingers peeking out from puddles of fabric and dark human hair falling down over what had to be a human face.

He must have realized the change because the man shot up, his head down as he stared at his hands, turning them over and clenching fists. His oversized pants began to fall and he grabbed the waist to hold them up, his attention switching to his feet as held out first one and then the other.

Kent’s arms dropped but Bitty remained leaning against him, unable to move his legs. He covered his mouth and sobbed.

It was enough to draw the man’s attention as his face shot up, eyes wide and sad and that familiar powder blue.

“Jack!”

“Bitty.”

It was the same voice, if a bit smaller, and Bitty sobbed as he stood and threw himself into Jack’s waiting arms. For the first time, Bitty could wrap his own arms all the way around his waist and tuck his head right beneath Jack’s chin.

“You broke the curse,” Jack said as he pulled Bitty in, crushing him with a tight hold and pressing his face into Bitty’s hair.

“Don’t ask me how.” Bitty laughed through his tears but Jack pulled away, wiping Bitty’s tears with his human thumbs.

“It’s because you love me,” he explained with a soft smile and dark eyes, “Because you were someone I couldn’t help but love, as well.”

Bitty gave another tearful laugh and closed his eyes, laughing even more as Jack tried to wipe each tear away.

“They’re not gonna stop anytime soon so you might as well just kiss me!” Bitty finally cried, holding Jack’s wrists in place. He bit his lip and glanced up at Jack, whose jaw was dropped in surprise.

“I mean only if you wa-mmph!” Bitty tried to backpedal only to find Jack’s lips immediately pressed against his.

Bitty melted in place, hanging from Jack’s hands, just the right size to cup his jaw and the back of his neck without covering his face completely. Jack pulled away and Bitty’s arms reached for his loose shirt—the torn and worn one he had first found Jack in only a few nights but so many lifetimes ago—and reeled him back in for another kiss. They laughed against each other’s teeth and lips as their noses bumped.

Jack pulled back again, his eyes warm as his thumbs rubbed at Bitty’s still wet cheeks. “I love you,” he said again.

“I love you, too.”

A shuffle came from the door and drew Jack’s glance.

“Kenny—”

Bitty’s stomach fell through the floor. He pulled himself from Jack’s arms and turned to find Kent by the door, shuffling his feet like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar after finding out it was empty.

“I know when to excuse myself,” Kent said, shoulders hunched and voice strained and even though he had lost his stomach through the floor only seconds ago, Bitty could feel it squeeze inside him, his heart clenching and mind screaming no.

He took a step towards Kent only to have his hand pulled back by Jack’s own grip. Bitty glanced at it, amazed at how their hands fit together now, but turned back to the door before Kent could leave.

“Don’t go!” It was the only thing Bitty could say. It was the only thing Bitty could think. His entire body shouted it. He could not let Kent Parson leave. “I just almost lost Jack,” he pleaded, “I can’t turn around and lose _you_.”

Jack’s hand tightened around his but Bitty could feel it wasn’t in jealousy or anger. It didn’t tell him to stop. It was courage and it was a friend. It promised him someone was there and Bitty squeezed back.

Kent eyed their joined hands and blanched. “I can’t just stand here and watch you kiss him,” he explained, chewing at the inside of his cheek and running his hands up and down his thighs. He would not meet Bitty’s eyes even though Bitty mentally begged him to.

‘Then I won’t!’ Bitty does not want to say because now that he has kissed Jack, he wants to do it again and again and never stop. But, at the same time...

“What if I kiss you, too?”

Kent met Bitty’s eyes just for a moment before turning away. It was long enough, however, to see the want and it sent a thrill up Bitty’s spine. His breathing grew shallow and sped up. He wanted this.

He sent a glance over his shoulder at Jack who smiled back at him and nodded his head in approval.

When Bitty turned back around, however, Kent shook his head. “I’m not gonna make you do that.”

“You’re not making me if I want to do it,” Bitty argued, more heat behind his words and glare than he had realized there would be. He pursed his lips at Kent’s surprise and disbelief and dared Kent to question him on this again.

Kent looked over his head, this time, and back at Jack. In that instant, Bitty swore he would only look at Kent until this was resolved.

He steeled his head, his neck, his shoulders; his spine, all the way down both legs to the floor. He would not turn to see what Jack’s face looked like. No matter how much he wanted, Bitty would only wait for Kent.

Of course Jack had to instantly test Bitty’s resolve when he said, “With as big a heart as he has, is it a surprise he can love more than one person?”

“I didn’t say—!” Bitty shouted in surprise, about to turn to Jack when he realized who he had promised to focus on and how that denial might sound. “Kent…” he asked again, keeping the pleading from his voice this time to allow Kent to make his own decision.

Kent smiled at him, however, and let out a small laugh of disbelief. Bitty sighed in relief, rubbing at his eyes once again, trying to dry the tears that had yet to fully stop.

“I’ll want to hear that answer soon, though,” Kent admitted, stepping in close and pulling Bitty’s hand away from his face.

Bitty could see the trepidation still present in his guarded eyes and tense shoulders and frowned. “This isn’t pity,” he clarified, hands reaching out to grab Kent by his coat’s lapels and pulling him into yet another kiss Bitty found impossible to break from.


	16. Epilogue: The Lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack smiled as his eyes caught sight of Kenny and Bitty out on the dance floor. Kenny’s olive suit blended well with the sage Bitty wore: soft greens to celebrate the season. With the return of the sun and time spent outdoors, Bitty’s hair was beginning to lighten from the darker hue it had slipped into during winter and into a golden that almost matched Kenny’s.
> 
> The two wheeled through the allemande, eyes caught in one another’s any time the steps allowed for it. A stiff breeze blew Kenny’s cowlick into his face and sent them laughing as Eric reached up to fix it. At Jack’s side, his own mother laughed as well, her arm wrapped tight with his.

The party was larger than Jack had originally planned on it being, but as he looked around the ballroom he found he could not complain. Everyone here was someone important to him, someone he cared about. Those who had spent ten years under the curse with him were his friends as much as they were his retainers and he was happy to see them joining in the festivities with their loved ones, as well.

Chowder and Farmer were among those dancing on the floor, the two happy to hold each other any chance given now that they were able to. As a maid, Farmer had been turned into a feather duster and while they had found time in the last ten years to lean against each other and talk to each other, neither cup nor duster had arms to wrap around the other or hands to hold. They had married within days of the curse breaking, having spent the last ten years solidifying their plans. The honeymoon phase suited them well.

They were not the only ones to take advantage of their rediscovered humanity. With his father dead, Shitty had returned to the newly named Knight Vineyard to take over its running, marry Lardo and search for his mother. Suzanne remained at the vineyard, as well. While Jack had invited her to stay when Bitty and Kenny had moved in, she had refused, still wary of the man who had once imprisoned her. She got along well with M. Crappy, even if she did not feel quite comfortable in calling him her son. Shitty’s temporary title of seneschal—given by Jack in the intervening years of the curse after the castle’s official seneschal had remained uncursed and with his parents—remained as Jack was happy to hold onto him as an advisor, but his financial responsibilities had fallen mostly onto Ransom as the Butler. Lardo had fully left Jack’s service, however, passing her own position of Head Housekeeper to Foxtrot—who had been working under his mother’s maid until the curse struck—after marrying Shitty. She got along well with Suzanne, eating snacks the woman baked while listening to her chatter. Most of the time, she was focused on what she called the ultimate masterpiece. “I’m gonna turn the whole vineyard into one big piece of art,” she had told everyone when she quit the castle. “We’re immortalizing your love and story, brahs. It’s gonna be fucking beautiful,” Shitty had added with a sniffle and tear. Lardo also currently ran the majority of the household while Shitty focused on a possible lead suggesting his mother might have entered a convent in Spain.

While Jack and Shitty remained as close as ever, Jack and Lardo’s relationship was still redefining itself. Though Lardo swore nothing had changed, Jack’s mind still took him back to her silent anger when he had given Shitty over to Bitty without Shitty’s express consent that night everything had come to a head.

Lardo and Shitty stood over by the table of food, arguing over Shitty’s clothes. Apparently ten years without having to dress and undress had left Shitty with a preference for undress. He had shocked a number of servants back at the vineyard with this habit already and apparently even a more formal function left him itching to disrobe.

The feast spread along the table was courtesy of Bitty’s direction and efforts. Old age had kept Betsy from holding her job until a replacement head cook could be found and Jack had been happy to see her to her retirement after her long years of service. Bitty had stepped in until a replacement could be found. “Besides, if this is a celebration, everyone should be able to partake,” Bitty had told Jack after informing the staff everyone would receive the day off work and an invitation to attend. It was why the spread was at a stationary buffet. It was also why Jack’s footmen and maids danced and why Dex, whom Bitty had co-opted to kitchen work, was arguing in a corner with Nursey, Jack’s new valet. The added financial duties on Ransom’s shoulders had required a transfer as Holster now covered the management duties as co-Butler. Neither Bitty nor Kenny nor Holster had seemed to mourn that adjustment—most everyone at the castle agreed Jack’s outfits suited him and the current fashion far better once the switch had been made—and Nursey was regularly using his position to poke Dex into as violent a reaction as possible.

Jack smiled as his eyes caught sight of Kenny and Bitty out on the dance floor. Kenny’s olive suit blended well with the sage Bitty wore: soft greens to celebrate the season. With the return of the sun and time spent outdoors, Bitty’s hair was beginning to lighten from the darker hue it had slipped into during winter and into a golden that almost matched Kenny’s.

The two wheeled through the allemande, eyes caught in one another’s any time the steps allowed for it. A stiff breeze blew Kenny’s cowlick into his face and sent them laughing as Eric reached up to fix it. At Jack’s side, his own mother laughed as well, her arm wrapped tight with his.

The ballroom’s doors were flung open wide to the warm spring day, the scent of flowers and new growth heavy on the air, though, with the breaking of the curse, his mother’s roses would have to wait until summer to reappear. Jack’s parents stood one on each side of him, unwilling to leave him for long. Even after receiving the letter Jack had sent them, his father’s duties and a particularly bad winter had kept them at Paris until thaws and subsequent floods had settled down. Ever since they had arrived, however, with hugs and tears and kisses they claimed could not fill the missing ten years, they had fully situated themselves back in the castle and in Jack’s life.

“You should ask for a dance,” his father leaned over to him to suggest. Jack’s face heated over at the accompanying smirk. Parts of Jack wondered how his parents had adjusted to finding their son ten years later and ten years older so easily when he still found himself staring at the age that had etched itself into their faces and painted itself in the color of his father’s hair; when he still thought of interacting with his parents as a twelve-year-old, not the adult he now was.

The dance suite drew to its end and Jack handed his mother back over to his father before excusing himself and walking onto the dance floor.

“I believe I have the next space on your dance card,” he teased as he cut in on Bitty and Kenny and held his hand out.

“We’re not even using cards, Jack,” Kenny huffed. Jack didn’t care; not when Bitty smiled up at him and took his hand in time for the next dance to be announced.

“Kent, Sweetheart, why don’t you go see about fixing that hair of yours so it doesn’t fall in your face again?” Bitty suggested, giving Kenny’s hand a final squeeze with his other hand before turning to Jack.

“Yeah, Kenny, go fix your hair.” Jack smirked at the way Kenny purposefully shouldered him when walking past.

“You, mister, are the worst,” Bitty laughed as he watched Kenny go. “Absolutely incorrigible.” He shook his head but then squawked when Jack pressed him into line for the passepied.

When Jack next saw Kenny, he stood beside Suzanne, who wore her widow’s weeds and a bright smile on her face. That was another relationship Jack was in the process of fixing. After how their first meeting went, it was clear Suzanne was wary of Jack and her son’s involvement with him. There were, after all, any number of reasons for her to be wary of. Jack had been a beast. Jack had imprisoned her. Jack had imprisoned her son. Jack had been nasty enough as a child to draw the curse of an enchantress. Kenny was probably the better option between the two of them; Jack admitted that hands down. But Bitty had chosen the both of them and Jack was too selfish, too much in love, to do anything but take whatever Bitty gave him.

Jack danced through his other partners until he ended up in front of Bitty once again and smiled.

“Long time no see.” Bitty smirked as they stepped up to each other.

The dance sent them backing away before Jack could answer, but the moment he was within an appropriate distance, again, Jack said, “Any time is too long.”

“You know, you think you’re being smooth when you’re saying that.” Bitty snorted before turning to the woman on his left and spinning through the group, mirroring Jack’s movements across the aisle from him with the other men. “But I know you actually mean it and you’re really a big dork,” he finished when they passed each other by. The way Bitty smiled at him and bit at his lip made Jack want to pull him off the dance floor and leave everyone to their own devices.

“Yeah, well,” he admitted. A flush warmed his cheeks and he shrugged.

Bitty laughed.

The movement came to its close and Bitty and Jack stood the next one out, watching Foxtrot, Whiskey and Tango dance a trio menuet. Ransom, April and March danced the same on the opposite side of the floor. Bitty stood at Jack’s side, their arms pressed against each other, using the crowding audience as an excuse to stay as physically close as possible.

“What’s next?” Jack asked as he watched each trio move through their concerted dance. Probably the hardest part of re-entering society was how behind Jack had fallen. He did not mind his clothing or speech being seen as out of date, but Bitty loved to dance and so many of the time’s fashionable dances were completely new to him. The dance suites composed for them were just as unfamiliar.

Bitty hummed, his head leaning against Jack’s shoulder as he watched the dancers, as well. “There are a few options with this suite,” he admitted, “but probably the rigaudon. It’s pretty popular at least around here and we haven’t had one yet.” Bitty looked up at Jack as he asked, “You know that one?”

Jack shook his head as he raked through memories ten years past. “It was new and not quite popular enough for court when I was learning, so not really.”

Bitty grinned. “It’s a fun one.”

Jack took that to mean there was a lot of movement and a quick pace. It was a good thing he didn’t mind making a fool of himself for Bitty because that was likely to be the case.

Hands clapped on both Jack’s and Bitty’s shoulders as Kenny pressed in behind them and said, “You could always sit this one out and watch, Jack.”

Jack frowned because that was what he had been doing for most of the day and it was the last thing he wanted to have to do again. “I’m not that rusty.”

“Jack is a wonderful dancer,” Bitty cut in, giving Jack’s arm a squeeze, “Any partner would be lucky to have him.”

Kenny raised an eyebrow. “Better than me?”

Jack snorted. “I am the only one here who studied for court.”

Kenny opened his mouth to respond when Bitty cut them both to the chase. “Now don’t you two go fighting over me,” he said as he pulled away from Jack far enough to grab both his and Kenny’s hands as the menuet drew to a close. He pulled them both out to the dance floor, smiling innocent joy until the very moment he placed Kenny’s hand in Jack’s. “If you both wanna dance,” he smirked, his own hands folded carefully behind his back, “then dance.”

“Wait, Bit—!”

Bitty turned away despite Jack’s plea. “You’ve been passing me back and forth this whole time and my feet need a rest,” he said before walking over toward Lardo and Shitty.

“But!” Kenny tried this time, “Eric!”

“Have fun, boys!” Bitty turned to them just long enough to wave before pulling Lardo into a hug and letting Shitty hug them both.

Jack stood on the dance floor as the first chords struck up for the next movement, Kenny’s hand still firmly in his. “It seems we have both lost our dance partner.”

“He doesn’t know what he’s missing,” Kenny harrumphed.

Jack bit back a grin at Kenny’s pout as he watched Bitty walk off with Lardo. He looked back once and shooed them into the dance. Jack sighed and tightened his grip on Kenny’s hand as he asked, “Shall we show him?”

“Why?” Kenny teased with a challenging smirk, even as he followed Jack’s lead to where the couples were lining up for the dance, “You up for dancing on the women’s steps?”

Jack led them to join the groups of four that were forming across the floor, partnering the two of them up with Hall, his head groundsman who had spent the last ten years as a scythe, and Hall’s wife, Agathe, who had spent them as a watering can. “I’m the taller one,” he argued as he stepped up beside Hall and turned his eyes to his parents who took the first position in a quartet next to his own. “Besides,” Jack frowned as he watched his father’s feet, “I barely know the men’s.”

“Then why don’t you take the women’s? It’s not like there’ll be a difference,” Kenny pointed out with a victorious smirk.

Jack just smirked back, leaning in just close enough to reply, “Because you’re already in place for it. And it’s our turn.”

“Shit,” Kenny grumbled, but he immediately jumped into the dance, his eyes following the turns and directions of the women even if their steps were hidden underneath their skirts and panniers.

With the two of them each watching someone else, their steps measured, unsure and typically half a step to a full step behind, Jack was not surprised the first time they stumbled into each other, or the second. Their other partners in the quartet avoided them as much as the steps allowed. Jack outright laughed when Kenny tripped over his own feet and fell into him, almost taking the both of them down.

“We look like a fucking mess,” Kenny complained, “Eric is such a liar; you’re the worst dance partner ever.”

“Yeah, but at least I’m not the only one now,” Jack grinned as he helped stand Kenny back up and catch them up in the steps.

Opposing corners of the square joined up and Jack danced with Agathe for a moment. When they retreated to their initial positions, Kenny and Hall met and circled. Jack laughed when Kenny stepped on Hall’s foot, but covered his mouth to hide it when Kenny shot him a glare.

“Asshole,” Kenny hissed once they were dancing together again, “you did this on purpose.”

Jack only grinned, shoulders shaking every time he looked over to see Kenny’s concentrated frown. He gave a tug to throw off Kenny’s and his own balance and laughed aloud when they stumbled into each other.

“We already look like fools,” he said at Kenny’s look of long-suffering, “Might as well have fun with it.”

“Oh, and that’s how you want to have fun, is it?”

For the rest of the movement, Jack and Kenny worked to trip each other up, drawing the stares of everyone in the vicinity. Hall and Agathe even backed out of the dance, unwilling to risk being caught up in the tomfoolery. At the very end, both Jack and Kenny succeeded in collapsing onto the floor together, Jack with his arm around Kenny’s neck in a wrestling hold and Kenny having pulled one of Jack’s legs out from under him.

The moment Kenny released his leg, Jack fell backwards, laughing and pulling a laughing Kenny on top of him. Jack’s eyes slipped to the side and instantly picked Bitty out of the crowd, shaking his head in disbelief. Jack’s parents laughed at either side of Bitty and it took Jack meeting his eyes once before Bitty broke into tears of laughter, as well.

Jack’s hold on Kenny shifted from a strangle around his neck as he wrapped arms around his shoulders. It felt good, having Kenny in his arms. It felt right, knowing Bitty fit so easily into his life. He loved Bitty, he was falling in love with Kenny and he knew the both of them would say the same, especially with the way Kenny was burying his face into Jack’s neck.

Bitty walked over to the both of them with a fond grin on his face and held hands out to help them up.

“That was a fucking mess.” Kenny snorted as he pushed himself off of Jack and took Bitty’s offered aid. Once he was standing, he poked Eric in the chest. “This is all your fault. I’m blaming it on you. Happy now?”

Jack sat up on the floor and watched Eric throw his head back and laugh. “Very!” he crowed before looking between the two of them.

He held his hands back out to help Jack up this time. “And you?” Bitty asked.

Jack grinned at the flush on Eric’s cheeks and the way Kenny’s cowlick had fallen into his face again. “Yeah,” he replied, “I’m definitely happy.”

The music for the next dance suite started up as the three stepped away to the side of the room.

“What about you, Kenny?” Jack asked the one member of their little group who had not yet answered the question.

Kenny looked between Jack and Bitty, threw his arms around both of them and leaned in to press a kiss to each of their lips. “What do you think?”

And they lived happily ever after.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my two AMAZING betas, madameofmusic and LaBelleIzzy (who both also write amazing fic, so please check them out!). Any errors are due to my own stubborness.
> 
>  
> 
> Come reblog this work and view others from this fest [HERE](https://pbj-epifest.tumblr.com) on the PB&J Epifest tumblr page!


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